Oh, Sorrow
by robey331
Summary: Elladan and Legolas become soul-bound due to tragedy, now their fate may spell ruin for all they love. (M/M Slash)
1. Chapter 1

A Vision from the Past _TA 2917, Imladris_

"Hîr Elrond."

Faelon stood poised on the threshold of the study, his entire person radiating a combination of regret, reluctance, and anxious necessity. It seemed his lot to be the bearer of ill news and while he had grown accustomed to it, the erstwhile valet was never able to acquire that bland mental insouciance that would render him unperturbed. As much as he hated to interrupt Elrond's quiet evening of restful reading, he could not in good conscience fail to report the problem. Better to err on the side of caution than a tragedy result.

"Tell me." Elrond put aside the book he had chosen and rose, lips pressed tight in grim presentiment.

"There is an unknown ellon in Elladan's rooms," Faelon began stiffly and paused, marking the muted glimmer of exasperated annoyance that passed through his Lord's eyes. Such a discovery was not unprecedented, and he made a vague gesture with his hand to signify this was not the news, continuing: "Alone, sprawled over the bed naked, and utterly insensible. He did not hear me enter, gave no response when I cried out, and his eyes are fully closed."

The Lore Master's disapproving frown vanished in concern as his brows travelled skyward; he hastened across the room to snatch up a kit of healing supplies from a cabinet. "Any sign of injury, any blood?"

"Nothing visible," Faelon followed him out the door and down the hall, expecting orders.

"Elladan?"

"Nay, he was not in the rooms. The evening meal was untouched as near as I could tell."

"All right. Fetch hot water and a basin, then find my son." Elrond strode quickly through the house, taking the back stairs as it was quicker, and entered his son's suite to find one of the cook's assistants frozen in the bedroom doorway, gawking in pale-cheeked dismay. She turned at his approach and began babbling her tale, for she'd found the unconscious person when she came to clear the dinner dishes away. Elrond dismissed her firmly but kindly as he surveyed the scene.

The linens were in disarray, twisted and half-poured upon the floor near the foot of the bed, garments scattered in haphazard fashion indicating a trail from the door to the mattress, and the ellon in question was indeed supine, spread-eagled in all his natural glory, redolent of sweat and spent seed. A tangled flow of gilded hair cascaded over the pillows and half obscured whatever talisman was attached to the fine gold chain that lay upon his neck.

Elrond let pass this blatant evidence of Elladan's most recent debauchery and scanned the senseless ellon for what ailed him. He lay as pale and still as death; no sign of respiration inflated his lungs, and Elrond's heart clenched tight. In an instant he was kneeling on the mattress, one hand lifting the lolling head, the other pressed against the patient's neck. It was minutes before he felt a slow and sluggish pulse roll beneath his fingertips and he released a long breath of intense relief. The ellon inhaled and expelled a shallow breath of his own just then and Elrond carefully laid his head down. With the same delicacy, he lifted one eyelid to reveal glassy, nearly unresponsive irises, though the pupils contracted slightly. Basal metabolism was reduced to to the bare minimum, his body all but shut down to conserve strength.

Faelon entered and set about pouring steaming water into the basin as Elrond crushed athelas and other herbs, dropping them in. The healing fragrance filled the room, but the patient did not stir. A shared glance confirmed Elladan was not in the house and the servant departed to extend the search.

"Discretely," intoned Elrond as he turned, rummaging in his supplies for Miruvor. A few drops on the lips should have brought the unconscious ellon round, but didn't. He bent closer and sniffed the lingering air near the lax, open mouth; no indication of poison revealed itself. Taking sharp shears from the kit, he scraped the pointed end against the underside of the slender foot, but detected no indication of feeling. He touched the bare chest above the heart, but the organ was still minutes from its next compression.

The smooth skin felt cool and he slid his fingers over firm pectorals to caress a soft and dusky nipple, hoping to stimulate a reaction. There was no response and so he delved lower, fondling and tweaking flaccid genitals. Again, nothing stirred. Elrond's fingers froze and his brow creased as he probed the sensitive perineum. Abruptly he uttered a cry of amazement, bending closer, easing one leg aside and lifting the loose flesh of the hairless sac. What he discovered made his heart leap and stumble; the opening was narrow, inflamed, and oozing blood and semen.

"Nae (Alas), Elladan!" he groaned, heart now hammering at the implications. "What have you done?" The residual fluids allowed neither mystery nor mistake and he swallowed back a sour mouthful of saliva.

Grim and troubled, he proceeded to perform a thorough physical examination and found no indications of injury, internal or external, though were three scars: in the left shoulder, the right thigh, and the right side, all old and faded but visible; proof of severe trauma near enough to being mortal for his uneasiness to escalate. Elrond was left without an alternative diagnosis for the coma beyond grieving sickness. The circumstances were ominous and he could not prevent imagining the worst. In all of Arda, there was but one realm of elves where such injuries were as likely among the young as the ancient. In that realm, there was one specific elf who would bear just such a set of scars, who would indeed be young enough to still be, or rather to have been mere hours ago, a virgin, and who would seek out Elladan. Elrond sat on the bed, sighing morosely as he dropped his face into his hands for a moment, trying to gather his resolve, praying his conclusions were wrong.

Then he stood; a healer's care was needed here first and foremost; a father's concerns must wait. Carefully and thoroughly he bathed the limp body with the athelas infusion, removing all the sticky effluvia of the evening's excesses, and positioned his patient in a more dignified pose. Only then did he take up lax, long-fingered hands and murmur the words required to bring forth the might of Vilya. A bright gleam enveloped the unconscious figure, clothing him in undulating radiance that slowly seeped inside, temporarily turning his skin translucent so that blood and organs were visible. The light faded rapidly, the skin resuming its normal opacity as the potent energy was absorbed. He lay as though sleeping, eyelids lifted most of the way, but Elrond knew it was a forced and unnatural repose. There was little permanent improvement for grieving this side of the sundering sea, as he knew all too well.

The transfusion of VIlya's energy thus completed, he moved away from the bed and retrieved a chair, set it near and seated himself within it. He watched, eyes traversing the alluring form and exquisite features, understanding Elladan's attraction acutely and viscerally, counting the passing seconds in mounting apprehension. It was taking too long; the soul sickness had advanced to a pathological depth with exceeding speed and he wondered if repetition of the treatment would be necessary. Even as the thought gelled, the patient inhaled a harsh, gasping breath and sat bolt upright, eyes wide, mouth agape, one hand clutching his breast and the other knotted in the sheets. He gave a sharp shout of pain and fell back, chest heaving, limbs flexing, neck arching as the spasm of agony rolled through him. At last he exhaled a long low groan and lay still, panting hard. He murmured something unintelligible in the sylvan tongue, but Elrond heard his son's name within it and scowled in dark displeasure. The ellon still had not registered his presence and looked to be about to retreat into oblivion.

"Can you hear me?" he queried softly and saw the jerk of startled muscles as the head came up and confused blue eyes peered at him. "You slipped into darkness," he explained seriously, "and I've brought you back, though the method is used only in the last extremity. The pain should ease fairly soon." Still the ellon stared at him in silent quandary and Elrond stood, moved closer, bent over the prone form and peered at him closely. "Do you know where you are?"

"Imladris." He managed the word with difficulty and laid his head down, swallowing hard, eyes closing again as fingers fluttered over his abdomen toward the scar in his side. "Where?"

Elrond stared in dismay at this contradictory response. "Yes, you are in Imladris." A faint nod of affirmation followed, minor movement of lips but no sound, and the patient volunteered nothing more. "You have a name?"

"Yes." A dark red tongue came out to lap at lips gone dry and slowly he dragged himself upright, scooting with much effort to the edge of the mattress. His feet rested gingerly on the floor as though the pressure of the plush carpet hurt their soles; his hands bracketed his head in delicate misery. Another groan sounded.

"What is it," Elrond prompted, voice flat and somewhat impatient. He watched the face lift to stare at him anew, bewilderment paramount. "Your name," the healer repeated.

"Oh. Legolas," the elf replied, voice low and strained. His lungs erupted a short, hacking cough and another groan; he folded over his abdomen, arms twitching as he tried to decide what to support, stomach or head, and he managed to use one for each.

"Legolas?"

"Aye." He straightened himself with effort and pushed the thick mane away from his face, turning his sight on the imposing person interrogating him. "Who are you? Where is Elladan?"

"Legolas of Greenwood, youngest son of Thranduil?" Elrond's voice rang with dismay as his deductions were confirmed. No sooner had he spoken the words than he beheld an electrifying vision of the catastrophic effect this person's presence would wreak upon Elladan, indeed upon all of his family. He took a staggered step away, features ashen, a gasp escaping his heart, overwhelmed with the magnitude of the blow about to descend, then lunged forward and grabbed the Wood Elf's arm, tugging, trying to get him on his feet. "Get up! Bathe and dress yourself; you must leave here at once."

"Leave?" Legolas' legs could not support him and he wallowed in place, a dead weight as his assailant yanked on his arm. "Unhand me!" he demanded, struggling, and nearly fell over when he was suddenly released. He rubbed at his biceps, shaking, staring up at the stern countenance regarding him so coldly. The gaze tracked over his nude frame with a hint of distaste and disdain; he grew self-conscious and drew his knees closed, wrapped his arms about him. "Who are you? Where is Elladan?"

"I am Lord Elrond, Elladan's father." Arms akimbo, the Lord of Imladris watched this truth process through the ellon's scattered mind and saw a spark of hope dowsed instantly by wary tribulation. No doubt he presented a rather intimidating figure at the moment. "I am sorry to have to be so brusque, but it is for your well-being. You cannot remain in Elladan's company, especially in your condition. The malady is far advanced."

"Malady? Nay, being with Elladan will only do me good," complained Legolas. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep in Elladan's arms. Where had he gone? With a jolt he suddenly focused on his specific location, perched naked on the edge of the mattress, what had transpired, and what the renowned healer could not help but know. He went pale as water and flicked the mighty Lord an anguished glance. A shudder racked his bones and he dropped his head to his hands again.

"Nay, staying here will certainly not help you," Elrond shook his head firmly, glaring down on the distrait ellon. "Elladan is unable to give you anything; can you understand? Not that he would refuse, but that he cannot and will only absorb what little strength you have. Indeed, you have nothing left to spare; you should not have come here, Legolas, especially not now." Elrond found he was irritated and angry; Galadriel had assured him this trouble was behind them. "You cannot fathom what he needs, what he seeks, and you are not fit to provide it even if you did. Manwë's Breath, have you any fate that is not unpropitious?"

"I don't know what you mean." Legolas felt dread despair mounting in his mind, the joy he'd known in union with Elladan vanished. The august Lord's words laid a heavy burden on his heart that drained him further and the depth of his weariness again called him to sink into dreamless oblivion. Where was Elladan? Dark fears invaded; Elrond's speech implied Elladan had left him here, left him intentionally, left him alone. _It cannot be so._ "Where…"

"I do not know where he is!" Elrond exploded, fists clenched as he raised them up and dropped them, provoked beyond his limits. He could not permit this ill-destined doom come to its fruition. "What brought you here? Here, the one place you should never come, yet here I find you naked and unconscious, spent and wasted in the sex-soiled sheets of my son's bed. Are you in the habit of yielding all to the first ellon that beckons you?" The words were cruel, given the ruddy evidence staining the linen, and he watched a dark flush of shame and anger cover Legolas' flesh as he curled inward trying to shield his bare body.

"You have not right to speak to me so," Legolas said, sullen and forlorn. "There has been no other before Elladan, as you surely know. I was meant for him and he for me. I could wait no longer."

"Elbereth!" Elrond paced the length of the room and back several times, agitated and nearly frantic. Legolas had no idea what danger he courted, but Elladan should have known. Where, indeed, was he? Faelon should have located him by now. A new thought struck him and he paused, gazing at the confused and humiliated ellon slumped forward, face hid beneath the long fall of flaxen hair. Perhaps Elladan's absence was providential. In three strides he was at the bedside and before reason could offer any objections, gathered Legolas under the arms and hoisted him up. Ignoring the flinching and futile efforts to get free, he half-carried, half-dragged him toward the bath chamber.

"Let go! Daro!" Legolas found to his mortified pride he had no strength to extricate himself from this abduction.

"Nay, you cannot remain here," Elrond insisted and paused to tighten his hold, hauling him closer. "There is nothing for you here, Legolas. Elladan is gone; when he returns he will have forgot you were here. Another will be with him. You would not want to confront such a scenario, no more could you sustain your spirit, so depleted as it already is. Come, you must away before that transpires. Can you bathe yourself or do you require assistance?" he asked, meeting such stricken sorrow in the indigo eyes that it made his heart quail.

'"Elladan, forget me? Even after… And you will cast me out?" Defeat defined the questions and provided the answers; Legolas' universe tilted toward a black abyss and he wanted to topple in and leave behind forever this life of abandonment and pain. He could not live on if Elladan turned him away.

"Nay, you must not slip away, Legolas, not here! Not now!" Elrond exhorted, wild with remorse, and shook the elf roughly, realising he'd been too hard, too cold, permitted anger and fear to rule his tongue and his actions. Immediately he calmed himself, sent a second pulse of energy flowing through the ring, and pressed Legolas firmly to his chest as the ailing elf went rigid and gave forth a sharp, bitter wail of agony.

"Why?" Legolas rasped, clutching the healer, uncertain what had just happened, shaking violently as a searing sensation of fire chased through his nerves and his vision failed. Fear caught at his heart and sent it racing wildly; he could barely hold a breath of air in his lungs while fragmented thoughts floated through his head. "What…what did you…?"

"Healing light, nothing more, but this kind of light is foreign to elf-kind; we were not made to retain it bodily. It will not cause serious damage, only temporary discomfort. You should begin to feel stronger in a moment." He continued to support him until the tremors ceased, then gave a comforting squeeze and eased him back slightly. One look into those beleaguered blue eyes and Elrond knew his attempt to avert fate was futile. He offered a half-hearted smile. "Better?"

"Yes," Legolas admitted, completely confused by the fabled Lord's erratic behaviour, one instant seeming to despise him, the next resuming a kindly manner. "I cannot leave, Hiren; you must see it." He could not meet Elrond's eyes, embarrassed by his weakness, the intimate circumstances, and the close embrace that held him.

"Of course you will not go," soothed Elrond, resigned, and blew out a small sigh. He eased his constraining clasp, wrapping an arm about the Woodland Prince's waist and guided him slowly, carefully to the bathing chamber. "Listen now, I will find Elladan; in fact I already sent someone searching."

"He hasn't left me?" A faint whisper of hope tinted the question and the reflection of it in Legolas' shy glance was painful to perceive.

"Nay, forget what I said; they were the words of a distraught father. Elladan, at such times as these, is not entirely himself and I feared…" Elrond stopped himself, not sure how much he should say until he had words with his son and learned the truth. He looked to find troubled blue eyes regarding him keenly and smiled reassurance. "Nay, do not despair. I am sure he has been detained by some unexpected cause. I have sent for him and he'll be here soon," he promised, not at all certain he would be able to keep his word. He felt Legolas' co-ordination return as his legs gathered his weight, though he trembled a bit, and they advanced more easily now without the ellon's resistance, Elrond holding tight to one arm lest he falter. He offered another smile and nodded encouragement when those wounded eyes sought his again. "I will find him. Do as I say, hên, and then come down to my office. I will send someone to bring you there."

They reached the chamber and Elrond helped him climb into the deep copper tub, worried if Legolas would be able to tend such basic needs unaided, but hurriedly pumped in water until it lapped at his navel. "All right? Can you carry on alone?" A silent nodding, eyes averted, was the only reply, but long fingers reached for soap and cloth and began lightly rubbing. Elrond took the effort to wash as a positive sign. "Good, good," he encouraged, patting a slumped shoulder. "I'll gather your clothes."

He backtracked from the bedroom, picking up garments as he went, crossed the study, and eventually reached the door to the apartment where a forest green suede tunic had been stuffed rudely on the coatrack. The sight of it there quenched any hope he'd harboured that what had begun in such a roiling cauldron of misery and sorrow so long ago could be checked now. Elrond took the fabric in his hands and twisted it savagely, wishing he could unmake time and intervene before Elladan stepped into the trap, knowing he could do nothing and furious at his impotence to protect his child. Then he breathed a calming breath and unfurled the soft leather, smoothing away the wrinkles he'd crushed into it, and let his pity reach out to its owner. None of this was Legolas' fault and he stood to bear as much of the weight of the impending catastrophe as Elladan, if not more.

Another resigned sigh left the lore-master's lungs and he collected himself; he must not allow either of these two to perish. For Elladan's sake he must love Legolas and guard him as best he could. For both their sakes he must counsel Elladan closely and guide him to renounce the vow. If he dragged the Wood Elf into it with him… Elrond shuddered as the vision replayed. By the time he returned Legolas was washing his hair and he paused, watching, caught in the spell of beauty inscribed by the curve of the naked back, the lean strength of an archer's arms, the fair profile of high, soft cheeks upon which were inscribed the pale shadows of long, lowered lashes. He was struck suddenly and forcefully by the power of the ellon's courage and grace. Legolas' will was strong, regardless the infirmity of his stricken soul. Elrond decided that if anyone could defy fate it was this particular person, and he smiled. The bond was sealed as far as Legolas was concerned and now that it was, Elrond couldn't imagine anyone else who would suit Elladan so well.

He was caught staring as the archer completed his shampoo and stood, supporting himself carefully on a brass towel bar set into the wall, gaze and posture indicative of self-conscious embarrassment to find himself the object of such intensely appreciative scrutiny. At once Elrond went to him and helped him out, wrapped a towel about the dripping form, and lightly rubbed a bit, smiling now with genuine goodwill even as sadness inundated his heart. Already, without even trying, Legolas had endeared himself to the Elven Lord and the thought of losing him was a bitter thorn to pierce a heart already burdened. Elrond hugged him spontaneously and gently as though his injuries were physical and he might break, and tentatively the embrace was returned. Then he looked to the garments he'd gathered and realised he wasn't about to let Legolas leave Imladris; his assurances were honest after all. He turned to a tall cupboard and withdrew instead a soft robe and a pair of loose sleeping trousers.

"Welcome to my home and my family, Legolas, ion-en-gwaedh (son-by-bond). These will be a bit large, but should be comfortable; dress and wait in the sitting room. I will send for you as soon as Elladan is found." Another brief nod acknowledged the orders and Elrond left him there, striding through the apartment to its entrance where he opened the door to discover his elder son on the threshold. 

Oh, Sorrow dark  
and dense and deep bear me up, bear me  
for the way is steep and I cannot rise and stand upright  
to face the dawning day, its hours of cruel, revealing light  
which in some manner bold I must dare.  
Some manner cool and calm and clear, within it we keep faith, me and thee

Oh, Sorrow raw  
and rank and rare, we wait for night and its quiet, watchful stars, eyes of bright glass  
that see me as I am and neither quail nor scoff nor weep despair. 


	2. Chapter 2

Sorrow Full of Rage

Oh, SorrowA Legolas/Elladan Story by erobey, unbeta'd

Something of Beauty yet Remains  
_Eriador betwixt Angmar and the Ettenmoors_

"Enough of this. It is time."

The words were calm, quietly loosed into the wreaking air and declaimed with irreducible finality for those who could hear no more than that, and that was enough. The bitter weariness borne upon the syllables was lost to most; the barren anguish that forced them into life obscured so that just the expression of ending and passing came through. Yet there was also a sombre note of defeat, of futility; he tried to hide that but it grew ever louder and stronger as the years stretched on so that betimes even the men detected it, as now. That drew anger, for everyone's blood was still so high. Elladan turned from his comrades and moved across the plain, watching where his feet trod amid the refuse of battle, sword still to hand and ready. It stabbed down quickly, reflexively, finishing one among their own who lay upon that bloody field dwindling toward death, and his step did not falter.

"No." Brusque denial followed and was ignored and so the man came after him, staggering so great was his rage and so numerous the corpses underfoot that one snagged his boot. "This is but another raiding party; the main refuge of our foes has yet to be uncovered. If you leave now…"

"Nothing hinders you from continuing the campaign." Again, that cool, flat dismissal sounded, an undertone of bemusement in it, and these men could not understand that either, though most had come to accept it. Their leader had not.

"Do you go now, when we are so close to finishing this, and I will name you craven and foreswear our friendship!"

A harsh gasp resounded from among the soldiers at this ultimatum, the actual source indistinguishable. Such raw fury defined Arador's threat that it was like a blade itself and the cut it made was deep, but still Elladan did not stop nor even pause. Another answered in his stead, as expected, as he knew he would.

"Be mindful, Arador, lest you call into being a fate you truly do not wish, for words have a power of their own." That voice was not so much calm as icy and replete with rebuke. Elrohir watched the man from a stern and reproving countenance, cleaned his sword or gore and seated it in its scabbard.

Silence followed this familiar friction of metal against leather and the strained atmosphere tightened into restive tension as the Dúnadan Chieftain spun round to face Elrohir, the residual adrenalin of battle unabated. Motionless the company waited as their lord wrestled within himself and with his immortal kinsman, eyes locked with the elf, wills battling though the outcome was indisputable. Elrohir remained sorrowful but adamant, Arador angry and unrepentant. He did not want to mean those words, and yet in part he did. The man lost the staring contest, as would any man. He made an inarticulate, disgusted sound as his gaze averted and he gestured with his sword, a useless expression of frustration, before returning his troubled face to Elrohir.

"Is it time for you, also? Do you abandon us to fly home after your brother?"

That brought an audible rebuke. "Father!" The younger man moved to confront Arador, for to insult Elladan first and now his twin was inexcusable, but a kinsman barred his way. This was not something he could mediate.

Elrohir saw him and recognised the desire to mend the rift, but it was unnecessary and he smiled, a soft laugh arising from his heart that was a little dark beneath its mirth. "To think that dour Arathorn should be the peacemaker here," he said and proceeded through the carnage, his intent now to bring healing for the wounded, and spoke to Arador over his shoulder as he summoned two aids to him with a beckoning curl of his fingers. "No, for me it is not time. Soon, but not yet. Even so, it is strange to hear you speak of abandonment, given our service to your father and your father's father, and many generations before that, even prior to the cause for which we now fight came to pass. Do not fret, Arador, I will stay on. We will enjoin another battle together, or two, before I must follow my brother home."

His words shamed the man and Elrohir knew it, but Arador was too proud to beg pardon and so the anxious strain remained, suspended in the rank and steaming air. There was a chorus of swords being sheathed and the men began gathering their dead, thankfully small in number, and dragging the carrion into a massive heap to be burned. It was high summer and not a whiff of a breeze arose to ease the humid heat; the stench of decay was already rising. Elrohir tended the injured quickly, enough to stabilise them so to be quit of this place as soon as possible. In short order the company mounted, the wounded borne by their comrades, the dead borne by the horses they had ridden in life, and set forth in silence across the plain, heading ever northward. Arador led, his son beside him, Halbarad between them and the elf, the rest in ranks behind them.

Elrohir exchanged a rueful glance with Halbarad and shrugged. He regretted the harsh reprimand, but that only produced a moment of self-mockery, for had he not been the one pontificating about the strength of speech to alter fate? When it came to it, though, he was also too proud to offer the apology that would set things right between them, and that warned him as nothing else could that it was indeed time to follow Elladan home, away from the killing and the weight of the blood, slipped from the bonds their vow imposed if only for a few days to bandage up his battered soul. He must heed that caution.

"Arador," he called and met aggrieved eyes that almost made him reconsider, but the danger was too great. "I misspoke; it is time. I go after my brother." Waiting for no reply, for the indignant disbelief that filled Arador's expression was answer enough, Elrohir wheeled his charger out of the van and set him cantering in Elladan's wake.

"Apostate!" shouted Arador and turned his horse to watch him go. In high wrath over both twins' desertion, he hastened after them, determined to bring his grievance before Lord Elrond, leaving the Dúnadain under command of his son Arathorn and his kinsman Halbarad. He caught up to Elrohir who deliberately slowed the pace to give his brother time to gain a greater lead, understanding Elladan's need for solitude. They did not encounter him and made the ford of the Bruinen a mere day behind, but in the course of that brief interval everything had changed irrevocably.

_Something of beauty._

The phrase held his thoughts captive, a lure for his wayward and careworn soul, and Elladan hurried over the dismal plains toward Imladris, sparing only time to rest the horse and then he paced, irritable and impatient to proceed. In these abbreviated pauses he did not reflect, too agitated in heart and mind to do so, but once mounted and cantering overland through the rasping grass, then the rhythm and the motion soothed him and he could think.

_Something of beauty yet remains, awaiting your discovery._

They were not his thoughts but Galadriel's and represented the summation of the wisdom she'd tendered to him once news of his dreadful quest reached her. He liked to recall them and it was part of his ritual to do so, part of letting go of one reality so to engage another, or perhaps it was more truthful to say he needed this ritual to draw him out of his warped and darkened world of vengeance and violence. His grandmother believed there was still goodness and joy to be found in the world, in life. Because she was certain, he believed. He wondered if she knew the power of her words; decided she must.

Once she understood what he and his brother had sworn, so great was her concern she'd travelled to Imladris and confronted her grandsons there in their father's house. What she said to Elrohir he didn't know for they never discussed it, though he assumed it must have been similar to the words she spoke to him. She had tried at first to turn him from the vow, expounding an eloquent recount of the consequences that could ensue from rash oaths, no matter how heartfelt when first loosed into the world, bequeathed a life of their own by the breath of the body that invoked them. How quickly Vairë would snatch them up, how unpredictable would be the newly spawned variations wrung from the simple, noble intent of those honourable words. None could say what sorrows might spring up because of this.

Sorrows sprang up all the same, whether he would pledge his sword or no, he had countered, angry. Should he do nothing and suffer the thought that others would endure the same terrors and tortures his mother had borne? How could she care so little for the plight of her own daughter, born of her blood and bone? _'It is because I care so much for her and for you, child of my daughter's blood and bone, that I entreat you to reconsider. She would have you follow her instead of this, you and your brother.'_

Follow her? She wanted him and Elrohir to sail? Struck dumb for several seconds, Elladan had only stared at Galadriel's pleading countenance, noticing for the first time the Ages of pain in her ravaged eyes; eyes filled with first-hand comprehension on the subject of vows gone awry. At length he drew air and answered, firmly but with sadness. _'I cannot, not yet, though I pray that day may come. For now there is in me only black anger and a morbid thirst for killing, and I dare not take those things to her lest she blame herself for them. She is my mother; I would not add to the darkness crowding her spirit.'_

Then Galadriel enfolded him in her arms and shed tears upon his hair, but spoke no more of forsaking the vow. At length she gave him needful instruction on the keeping of his soul and named for him the signs he must not ignore if he ever wished to make that journey over sea with hroa and fëa intact:

_'This world you love will dim and diminish so that those things of nature that were your delight you will neither see nor hear. The wild landscape of the empty plains, the soaring peaks that tempt and challenge, the cold torrents and the quiet pools, these will no longer register in your awareness. No birdsong will reach you; no rain will cleanse you, no gentle glade or shaded knell appease your wrath or soothe your soul. Colour will drain from the land until there is only a dull and grim shading in greys and lesser greys._

'Then the people you love and the comrades you befriend will grate upon your patience, testing both your courtesy and your temper. Every word will seem an offence and an insult; every look a sneer or a snarl, every comfort offered appear as a trade for some curried favour. You cannot wait that long, Elladan, or it would be too late. When all the world about you goes grey and even the sky is but a blank white glare, then you must turn for home with all haste. Shelter in the light of Vilya or come to Lorien, if it is nearer, and let Nenya wash away the stain that blinds your vision and robs your soul of any delight.'

He remembered the chill that took hold of him then and the dread that fell upon him as she described the stages of fading in such succinct terms, her voice trembling as she tried to be brave. Her foresight saw and the vision terrified her, and her fear transferred to him so that he went willingly into her arms as he had gone to his mother when he was just a child frightened by the cries of wolves in the night. Then she found her strength and drew apart enough to see his eyes and smiled gently, soothing his hair with her delicate hand. _Nay, fear not, for even when the world turns drab and bereft of colour and joy and life, something of beauty yet remains awaiting your discovery._

Elladan smiled, reliving that moment, and felt the healing begin as he anticipated the comforts of home. He had obeyed her assiduously, yet the first time he'd realised he had to go came as a shock, revealed in a casual comment from among the Rangers: _'You need not kill them all personally, Elladan. We be but men, but we have swords and know how to use them skilfully. Indeed, you taught me yourself, remember?'_ Laughter had followed, a break in tension after another bloody struggle, and Elladan had not found it amusing. He found he wanted to skewer the offending soldier and watch him bleed out. That was sufficient to make him realise it was almost too late; he'd departed immediately and without a word.

Entering the valley, he'd gone to the House of Healing and had his wounds tended, but that had not brought about the peace he so needed. Fractious and irritable, he'd picked at the evening meal and growled at family and friends alike, taking himself to the Hall of Fire reluctantly, scowling as though to disdain the merriment and the music there. It was all farce, a means to cover his fear that he had waited too long and now must fade. That was when he saw her watching him, not with concern and worry as it seemed everyone else did, but with hunger and appreciation and open invitation. She hadn't even waited for a flirtatious seduction, coming to him and leading him away. She gave him solace and sated both her passions and his. By dawn they were inseparable; by two turns of Ithil they parted amicably. He left the valley and resumed the rigorous work his vow demanded, renewed and rejuvenated.

Ever since, he returned to Imladris eagerly, searching for and finding diversion, succouring his desires and salving his soul in whatever person seemed most beautiful and most willing to accommodate his darkness. As the years passed, this partner turned out to be male more often than female, for the vehemence of the intimate encounters was generally more violent than a lady wished to endure for the sake of pleasure. He spent his rage as he spent his seed and after a month or two of this lusty cure his guilt was assuaged. He became once more Celebrian's son, alive in the world and able to appreciate it fully. It became his pattern, accepted, albeit with some worry and reluctance by those who loved him, and his reputation for possessing an almost insatiable appetite for rough bed-sport spread through the vale as the seasons wound away into years and the years turned into centuries.

And then he ventured from Lothlorien one morn with the notion to enlist with the Wood Elves, for the talk of the Necromancer was growing and Celeborn believed their struggle to survive was dire.

Elladan pulled up short, his charger snorting and dancing, as this thought intruded, disturbed that it had done so. It was definitely not part of his ritual to think of that journey. Quickly he forced its memory down, upset to have it arise here at the borders of Imladris, so near to safety and healing and hope. Ten days and nights he'd ridden without that event breeching his defences and he would not give it precedence. He would not think about that; it was over.

At mid-morning he crossed the ford and saluted the guards, galloping for the last Homely House, wondering why Elrohir's endurance was greater than his, why the sickness did not seem to poison his brother so sorely. Few were the times they had returned together, though generally Elrohir followed quickly. Invariably they resumed their covenant together. He shrugged off the unanswerable complaint as he dismounted, pleased by the numerous calls of welcome that rang through the courtyard, moved by the heart-felt embrace of his father, gladdened by Erestor's hearty slap on the shoulder. He took himself to his rooms, bathed, donned fresh clothes, made himself alluring, as he thought, though others saw primarily the predatory glint in his eyes. He strode for the kitchens and ordered an elaborate meal to be taken to his rooms, gave instructions to have the linens freshened and the bath readied, chose what wines and liquors he wanted. All jumped to his clipped commands and scurried to carry them out and it pleased him. Now, he need but choose.

He was not taciturn or dour at the midday meal, though he only nibbled, sitting at his father's right hand and engaging Erestor and Glorfindel in amiable conversation, though his mind was far removed from most of it. He saw their glances one to another, but none would dare jibe about his reasons for being home. There were no ribald jests or suggestions as to who his designated partner might be, but none missed that Elladan's keen eyes swept the crowded hall, assessing potential lovers. Few met his gaze and those that did quickly turned aside.

Elrond observed his eldest keenly and openly; there was no point attempting to hide his concern and if he was less than happy over the remedy he kept silent. Elladan brought himself home regularly and while the wounds in his spirit had not closed, at least his soul was not bleeding away into the ether. None of the amorous affairs amounted to anything; his son's heart was never engaged nor were those of his temporary bed-mates, and so, satisfied over the condition of Elladan's health, he permitted his eyes to remain blind. Elrond felt a small prick of alarm, noting the ragged edge of frustration and discontent contaminating the region surrounding his son and knew the cause for that, too: today no one answered the bold challenge of his hungry eyes. Hoping to divert him, Elrond spoke.

"Ionen, many have departed since last you were home. Our people diminish."

"So I see," Elladan frowned. "No folk from Lorien have moved here since?"

"Nay, nor has any couple brought forth new children. Times are dark and growing darker. It may be time to consider…" Elladan suddenly focused on him so sharply and with such fury that Elrond paused and reached out to take his shoulder in a strong grip. "Steady, Elladan."

"I know what you would say, but it is not time. I will not sail, not yet." His voice was brittle and overly loud; conversations at other tables grew faint and faltered; eyes flickered near then shied away.

"That was not what I would say," Elrond reprimanded gently. "I was going to elicit your thoughts on renewing the alliance between Gondor and Arnor. Soon, there may not be enough of us left to carry on and all must then sail or perish. I would keep my vow to Gil-galad, but my patience wanes."

"Forgive my sharp tongue, Adar," Elladan gave a brief laugh at his own expense and inclined his head at his father's instantaneous absolution. He addressed the political question. "That is certainly true, but Arador is not the one for whom we wait. He has trouble keeping his own kin loyal, for he is harsh and relentless in his desire to reclaim the lands his ancient fathers ruled."

"It will need a strong and relentless hand to hold those lands," remarked Glorfindel.

"True, but Arador dreams of glory, of estates and wealth and comforts and adoring subjects. It is personal for him, a desire for power and control, to show that upon him rests the favour of the Valar."

"Men have ever desired power over their kin even as most men are willing to let one among them have it. That being true, Arador may indeed be the best choice. We need a strong leader willing to unite the people and heal the divisions wrought at Eärendur's death. If we wait much longer, our enemy may become so entrenched that all the men of Gondor and Arnor combined cannot unseat him. Woe to all of Middle Earth then," spoke Erestor.

Elladan set down the goblet he had just raised to his lips without tasting its contents and met his old tutor's gaze, his own troubled. "He asks for tribute." That shook the others and they all sat up and stared at him, dumbstruck.

"Tribute?" Elrond finally barked. "From whom?"

"Fornost mainly," Elladan shrugged. "Even to Bree and the borders of the Shire, but also the scattered people throughout Rhudaur and the few who have ventured back into Cardolan."

"Ai Valar!" Glorfindel swore. "He would tax the Halflings? By what right does he so?"

"None," observed Elrond archly.

"He is nursing a sore in his heart that grows with every year he breathes," explained Elladan, "resenting the people of the divided kingdom who supported Eärendur's lesser sons and broke the land apart, thus causing the rule of Numenor in the north to collapse. He feels no love for them and is jealous of the effort his army makes to defend such 'disloyal subjects' without recompense. The Hobbits especially inhabit a rich land he deems men should possess and says that is land within the bounds of old Arthedain, so a tribute should be paid by any who would dwell there."

"He has confided this to you?" Elrond was appalled.

"Yes, and to Elrohir and Halbarad, who in turn complains of him and his harsh treatment of the poor folk who have nothing to tithe and no men to swell the ranks of the Rangers. Even Arathorn argues with him constantly over this, yet no voice will Arador hear but his own, no pain does he feel save that he imagines himself to bear, and when pressed too hard claims he is doing all that must be done to assure there is something for his son to inherit."

"No, he is not the one," conceded Erestor with a sigh. "I thank you for this candid report, Elladan. I shall have to summon him."

"As soon as may be," Elrond agreed and rose from the table, the others following suit. With his elder son home, Elrond had no desire to go to the Hall of Fire and watch the selection of the next - he knew not what name to use: lover, partner, victim? _All of that._ He grimaced mildly and bade his son good rest, pulling him near to kiss his brow ere he left for his private chambers.

Erestor and Glorfindel had no such compunction, curious to see the conclusion of the hunt, and openly trailed Elladan as he prowled down the corridor. Suddenly he stopped and faced them, smiling in a wicked way that made them want to cringe. "I think I spied Lindir heading out through the kitchens. I need to have a word with him if you will excuse me?" He didn't wait for their reply as he changed course and left the house, intent upon crossing the minstrel's path in the gardens. Seneschal and Balrog-slayer traded doubtful glances over it.

The singer was not interested in Elladan's proposal, favouring a more romantic encounter with a lady fair instead of a warrior, and could not be cajoled into any novel experience, though he did promise to stroll beneath Elladan's balcony once the moon reached its zenith and sing a few ballads. Elladan was not in good humour when he reached the Hall of Fire. The vast chamber was surprisingly full, considering all his offers had been rejected before he could even voice them. Of course, many wagers had been set on who would willingly have him in so dark a mood; he knew it well and did not care about that. His need was too great. He searched now for anyone who had not been at table, any face not turned aside for fear of catching his roving eye.

Yet it was not sight that first discovered the ellon, but his ears, for a musical laugh arose above the music and when he turned to mark its source he found blue eyes regarding him from a smiling countenance so fair he caught his breath and forgot to breath for a moment.

_Something of beauty._

Tall and slender, he stood in a half-shadowed alcove near the open archway to the gardens, a bounty of golden hair loose about his shoulders. He wore elegant attire meant to accentuate his allure that could not conceal the tempered strength of a warrior's physique. Alone, he exuded that aura of solitary self-sufficiency that so effectively made strangers keep their distance, yet he was most definitely on the prowl and gave Elladan a thorough inspection. The smile he tendered was one of recognition and relief and unbounded desire. He came forth boldly and stood before the stunned orc slayer, and when he spoke the words made Elladan forget his pat and practised seduction:

"I have been waiting for you such a long time."

Oh, Night compassionate and colourless and sweet,  
stare upon this face of horror, sorrow, horrow, harrow  
and soothe the Hollow-husk, the empty heart where once my soul thrived. Succour me  
with the distant, indifferent caress of infinity that warns, cajoles,  
and promises that none of this matters, none of it, and all will pass  
just as soon as I do, following my soul and its endless morrows into oblivion. 


	3. Chapter 3

Residuum

"It is ever new, happening now, raw and real, and I can't forget the blood and the screaming. Plenty of both I've seen and heard before, but not like this. I thought the screaming was the worst until I saw the blood: standing pools of it dark and dank and too thick to soak into the ground, smears of it splashed over pale flesh, delicate red droplets sprayed upon every green leaf in sight."

"Who was screaming?"

"We've lived for vengeance these many long centuries now, you and I, and in all this time I've held silence to be the more dire, signifying death or its near approach. We've heard all manner of cries: of hatred and rage, derangement and defeat, rallying cries and shouts to flee, death rattles and the pleas of the cowardly bargaining for mercy with the lives of their own kin. We've heard and shouted war cries of all manner from primitive howls to challenges wrought in ancient speech echoing out of the far distant past when our people were in their ascendency. I say to you, never have I heard such screams as these and hope never to again."

The solemn vehemence of these words invoked an edgy quiet rendered more disturbing by the muted murmur of the well-mannered fire. They sat near the hearth in the dim and dancing incandescent gleam, features cast in shades of amber and vermilion, hunched close across the table, ignoring the finery and the comfort revealed by the undulating flames and their cavorting shadows, heads nearly touching, the speaker with his brow hid behind hands that shielded and supported his lowered face, his brother still and attentive, eyes anxious and bright. The seconds seeped away up the chimney with the smoke and no more was said, as though Elladan had withdrawn into the harrowing scene that disturbed his rest and needled his mind to distraction, and so he had. 

The first indications of trouble were subconscious; that silent, instinctive tightening of the nerves and the gut experienced before scent or sound brought more concrete evidence of danger, and such signs were to be expected when traversing the Anduin Valley near to Dol Guldur. Perhaps that was why he did not extend his senses or hasten his steed. Had he done so, perhaps the outcome would have been different. As it was, by the time he urged the horse for speed everything was over and he could only snatch up the survivor and race for help.

The screams were horrific, unholy shrieks of dread terror, female, high pitched and continuous, the last sounds of life a soul extrudes from the body that houses it as the two are ripped asunder. Rumbling underneath the relentless howl came dark words from a Black Tongue and a multitude of cackling and hissing beasts emitting what passed for laughter among their foul kind. The noise chilled his very marrow and that single second of time elapsed as his mind shrugged off the shock and the instinctive fear, snapped into rage and cold, savage, inexorable hunger for vengeance. His sword was drawn before that second transpired, unsheathed in the echoing torment polluting the air, and no command was required to send the charger flying over the grassy plain and under the eaves of the forest. Abruptly the screaming ceased, cut off, no breath left to feed it, no soul extant to sustain it, and Elladan's fury expanded tenfold. Even as he opened his mouth to call down his doom upon these foes, another voice rose amid the silent woods.

A young voice, so lost, so bereft, so unhinged, beseeching forgiveness, crying incoherent accusations, abominable curses, promises of death and revenge. Within them rang the sweet clamour of finely made and deadly steel clashing with crude iron and dense bodies; he could hear the blade's sharpness, its keen edge and its flexible length slicing and stabbing, disembowelling and dismembering. He could feel the speed and skill of its owner, magnified by rabid grief and untempered madness into strength that knew no limit. New yammering welled up like sluggish blood from deep and mortal wounds: the beasts' astonishment to find their might abridged, themselves beaten and dying. 

Elrohir shifted uneasily and reached out to lightly touch his brother's arm. "Who was screaming, Elladan?"

A deep, shuddering breath accompanied a startled motion as Elladan straightened and uncovered his eyes, rubbing his weary countenance with his hands before laying them flat upon the table top. He took a sip from a cup at his elbow and trained his sight into its depths as he set it down again.

"His mother was screaming, begging me to save her child from so hideous an end: 'To me, for the sake of my son! Save him, please!' That is what she shrieked to me as her gaze and mine locked. It was the last her voice was used to make words and thereafter all noise that issued from her mouth was that of an animal in the throes of death. I would do as she bade me and so I did, but the child got loose from me and was taken, too." Elladan fell silent, lost in contemplation of the abhorrent scene.

"He got loose?" Elrohir could hardly form the words, heart suddenly weighted with woe, unable to move the blood through him efficiently so that he felt chilled and shivered. _What were you doing there?_ He wanted to scream the words, to grab Elladan and shake him hard, berate him for being there. He suppressed the mental query and the mad urges it provoked and shivered anew, detesting to hear the tale, morbidly determined to do so. "You proceeded to rescue the child, but lost him before delivering him to his kin? What happened?"

Now it was Elladan's turn to shift about in discomfort, for there were some things he had never told anyone and was not sure he wished even his twin to know. Elrohir was angry and frightened, hide it though he would, and prodded for the truth in resentful dread. Yet that truth was not something to place between them like a prize to be shared. It was sacred to him, the pact betwixt him and the traumatised child to hold hidden in his heart forever the debasement and the unnatural depravity unleashed that day. 

Elladan joined the melee when it was almost over and proceeded to cover the child's back, dispatching three ghouls before finding the lethal silver sabre swooping toward him from below. He parried it with the ponderous weight of his long sword and the clear knell pealing out from the collision overprinted the raucous cacophony of battle and in its diminishing overtones silence returned. Knife and wielder staggered down beneath the force of the impact, the young ellon on his knees, but immediately recovered and leaped back, blade up and ready, and their eyes locked.

"Sîdh," soothed Elladan, staring into glaring red-shot eyes, into a hollowed and harrowed and riven soul. He raised his empty hand, open and entreating, but his sword hand remained at the ready. "It is over; you have prevailed, penneth, and I am not your enemy."

Brittle respiration filled the space around them and Elladan dared not move, refused to break from that anguished glare, held the raw, brutalised gaze in heart-broken impotence as it transformed, rage melting away, implacable reality crystallising into unbearable sorrow and despair. The shining knife glinted, darting noiselessly into the pliable flesh of a naked belly, and Elladan shouted in dismay as he leaped forward and caught the killing hand, drew out the blade, cradled the crumpling, bloody youth before he collapsed atop the corpse of one of the orcs he'd just slain. He lay unmoving in Elladan's embrace and the shock of this slight weight filling his arms jolted him into action. Sheathing his sword still smeared with gore, he shouldered the battered body and mounted the horse in almost one motion.

They burst into a gallop, tracking back over the wreckage left by the retreat of the orcs, but almost at once the stallion stalled, dancing sideways and neighing a short bugle of distress. There upon the trampled ground lay the murdered elleth, naked and cruelly dismembered, head from torso, legs and arms hacked innumerable times, breasts reduced to bloody pulp, internal organs spilling through the gash that split her from navel to vagina.

Elladan hadn't any curse vile enough to express his horror to see this and the next instant he knew the child had seen, had seen it all and lived long enough to exact his revenge. He wanted to get down and gather her remains, bury them or burn them, but the child was lax in his arms. Death was imminent, trickling out of him in vitally precious burgundy fluid and pale, visible tendrils of shimmery light. At once he jerked free the cloak upon his shoulders and wrapped him tight, pulled him close against him and bent lips to a pointed ear.

"Stay with me; this is not your fate but theirs, and you must defy them. You can survive; you must survive. She would want you to live. Hear? You must live for her or the victory is theirs." He whispered the words fiercely, passionately, filling them with the overwhelming realisation that he did not want this child to die in his arms. "You must live for me; I cannot bear to lose you to such an end." The testament slipped past his lips before his mind knew he wanted to speak it and he wondered at the depth of emotion behind it. 

Elrohir touched his arm again and Elladan smiled sadly at the mixture of anxious compassion and apprehensive jealousy contained in the brief connection. That was sacred, too, their unique relationship, and in the end he found it to be the stronger axiom. He only hoped Elrohir would understand why he'd held back. He needed his brother's comfort unconditionally, not his possessive, oppressive need to control and protect.

"Elladan." Elrohir seized his wrist and squeezed reassurance, feeling all this pass through his brother's heart, a surge of guilty shame supplanting his underlying rancour. "Tell me what happened." For a time Elladan only stared into his soul, lost in the searing visions of the past, and finally bowed his head in assent, looked again to the flames languidly dancing over the incandescent coals.

"It was already happening before I came upon them, for the battle was far advanced. The clamour of fighting drew me there, but those screams nearly drove me back. That and the dreadful pall of terror that gripped my heart as I galloped beneath the trees. It was familiar to me, yet the impact was magnified a thousand fold. I think my mind knew my spirit wouldn't bear the weight of it. I was assailed by a physical sensation of heavy dread, palpable like a burden upon my body as though I were being buried under a fall of stones, buried alive. Nonetheless, I resisted the urge to turn tail and flee.

"She was screaming; the child was screaming, too, pleading help for his mother. They were in the very centre of the battle, why I still do not know. He was defending her against a ring of orcs, who in turn were harried by the warriors attempting to break through and reach their kin, so that the child was alternately beset and uncontested. In the tranquil seconds he struggled futilely to to get her up; she could not rise for the horse lay atop her leg and its weight held her trapped. He was…" Elladan paused, unable to continue, and shut his eyes tight against the image. 

The charger was racing again, darting amid the trunks of towering beeches, following the enemy's destructive track, and before a league fled beneath its hooves a party of warriors came riding toward them; no more than six, all of them stained with gore and bleeding freely from wounds untended and ignored, knives and bows in hand and cold hatred contorting their faces. They drew up as one and stared at Elladan, then a cry erupted from one and he pushed closer, harried eyes leaping between the senseless child and his saviour.

"He lives," Elladan announced quickly. "The mother is dead."

"Dead!" the low lament rippled through the warriors and up into the limbs and Elladan looked up sharply to find many more archers perched around them. He steadied his quickening pulse; their bows were not armed. From above, someone called orders for a company to go back and gather her remains, and Elladan was glad for it, not wanting to tend this duty himself. He had no need to point the way for it was obvious and at any rate he was soon distracted by the distraught ellon approaching on horseback.

"Give him to me!" he demanded, inching closer, arms outstretched. "He is my son; give him to me!"

Without a word Elladan transferred the fallen child to his father's arms and watched the quick inspection, winced at the sharply indrawn air and frantic cry as the injuries were hastily catalogued. Then he turned his charger about and raced away beneath the trees in desperate hope to save the child, all that remained of the embattled warriors following. Elladan joined them, unwilling to depart without knowing the fate of the youth or the history of this disastrous skirmish. Suddenly one of the archers dropped from the heights onto his horse, settling behind him firmly, and the charger made no objection beyond a toss of his noble head. Elladan met the warrior's eye over his shoulder.

"Are you in need of assistance?" he asked warily.

"I am," replied the ellon. "Can this steed go no faster?" Even as he spoke he touched his heel to the charger's flank and elicited an increase in velocity.

Elladan smiled despite the dire situation. "Gladly I will share my mount if you will safeguard me to the place where your kin are carrying that young one."

"You need no protection now or ever, even beyond the changing of the world," declared the archer. "I am Giliach and that young one is my cousin, Legolas. Which one are you?"

"Elladan." The question, though generally expected, nonetheless startled him a bit, never having imagined the Wood Elves knew anything of him and his twin, but he answered evenly enough and asked a question of his own. "What happened here?"

"We are at war," Giliach stated, his tone exasperated as though every fool breathing air must know this. "What brought you hither? We never see the folk from over Hithaeglir near our borders."

"I was in Lothlorien and thought to come this way, for talk of the troubles here reaches the Golden Wood." Elladan did not really have an answer to give; he had no clear understanding of why he'd travelled through Nan Anduin past Dol Guldur when he never had before. This was not lost on Giliach, who gave a quiet snort.

"Whatever the cause, I am grateful. Not only I, but all of Greenwood owes you a debt that can never be remitted."

That seemed an unnecessary exaggeration and Elladan gave his companion an incredulous glance. The ellon studied this mild bewilderment and then suddenly gave a harsh laugh.

"You do not know!"

"Know what?"

"Of course you do not know; the exalted Noldor of Imladris take no notice of the humble sylvans of Greenwood."

"What is it I should know?" Elladan snapped, irritated by this barbed taunt in light of the effort just rendered on his part.

"That Thranduil is his father; Legolas is the only child remaining to him now." GIliach paused and registered the slight start signifying Elladan's surprise. "So you do know who Thranduil is, then."

Elladan refused to acknowledge that, saying instead, "Verily, having lost the mother, no father could countenance the child be destroyed, too. I only wish I had arrived sooner to prevent what was done to her, and to him."

"He saw all, then," the grim archer mourned and sealed his lips tightly, unable to say more. 

"Elladan? Please, continue." Elrohir's gentle but impatient tug upon his arm brought Elladan out of the past and he resumed speaking.

"He was desperate to the point of hacking off her leg at the hip to get her free, but he couldn't. I saw the blade rise up, but he couldn't. He wanted me to do it, for he knew even as I did, as she did, that the horse could not be moved by one or even by two in the midst of the onslaught. Our eyes met as I charged toward him, his went to the sword in my hand and back to mine. He saw the truth in them: I could not do it either, would not do it. The next instant I snatched him up and he cursed me most foully, fighting against my hold. He sliced his bloody knife across my arm and thus slipped my grasp. He went back for her, but she wasn't there." He faltered again and covered his eyes, sickened by the memory. "Once I secured the boy, the other warriors abandoned her to her fate, forming a rearguard to protect us. The orcs were thus free to shift the dead horse and take her alive."

"Ai, Muindor," Elrohir sighed. This was too much like their mother's doom and to hear that Elladan was exposed to this crisis without anyone he loved near at hand made his spirit sick with grief and remorse. _Why was I not there with you?_ He withheld this from his brother, too, knowing the answer was not complimentary to him. Elladan had parted from him to heal and renew himself in Lorien, parted because he had sated his hunger for destruction and death while Elrohir had not. "You went after them."

"Aye." Elladan sat back and inhaled deeply, released the air in slow measures, shook his head in self-reproof. "By the time I reached them, she was dead and he soon to follow her. I staunched the wounds and dressed them with haste, carried him back to his people. He was alive when I left Greenwood, but there has been no word all these many days and I am forbidden to return there. My inquiries go unanswered. I need to know he survived."

"Forbidden? How so if you were the cause of the child's rescue?" Elrohir waited for details, but his brother was closed off again, hiding the horror of it inside, his expression detached, his mind entranced by the shadow dance of memory. 

They rode on in silence, passing at length through the site of the ambuscade that had precipitated such a grave result. The wholesome weald was marred, churned and ruptured and strewn with the seeping corpses of orcs and elves and horses; among them moved a few sylvan archers deployed to recover the dead and dispose of their defeated foes. Every eye investigated Elladan as he crossed the place and a few voices hailed him in gratitude and dignity, calling him Lachenn Tawarendil, Noldorin friend of the woods. He raised his hand and dipped his head solemnly to acknowledge their lauds.

Soon they reached a set of high gates set between the trunks of two mighty trees soaring skyward so high it was dizzying for sight to follow them to the canopy. These abutted other bolls, ancient and mighty, standing side by side by side so closely that they made an impenetrable, living wall that stretched beyond the limit of elven sight. The barrier was standing open but a multitude of warriors milled within and without, all hoping to catch sight of the unexpected outlander, and a paroxysm of misery and agitation swept through them as the bitter outcome of the ambush preceded its survivors. Once beyond this landmark, the galloping horses slowed and swerved aside into a fair, green dell ringed by the giant oaks and watered by a clear brook. There were people there waiting; it was obviously an encampment with provisions and medical attendants. One of these came quickly to receive the wounded child as all followed close behind. They gathered near the stream where the healer laid the patient down for treatment.

Now Elladan hung back a few paces yet near enough to observe what manner of lore the healers owned, unwilling to impose yet likewise unwilling to leave the young one in any but the most capable hands. That he knew much of healing from his father he did not announce, though it cost much to bite his tongue, and he paced to and fro as the wounds were cleansed and stitched and bandaged, hoping for some indication that the prognosis was positive. It took time, as he'd known it must. After some time, a soldier came and brought him water to drink and bade him clean away the stains of battle a ways further downstream. Elladan sensed this was not an offer but a demand and he complied, accepting the garments provided and donning them after his hasty toilet. He returned to the glen and found a place had been made for him to keep vigil with the rest: a blanket lain upon the turf and over it was cast a cloak of royal richness. He rested there, tense and troubled as a soft murmur of chanting voices met his ears. Not only the healers, but all of the people gathered were voicing their prayers and charms, and Elladan added his own.

The bright, warm sunlight and the twitter of birdsong stood out, incongruously juxtaposed against the sombre mood, for the glade was filling with the sylvan folk, not merely warriors but citizens of all kinds, all ringing the little knot of kinfolk and medics poised near the fallen child, keeping a respectful distance, most on their knees. Giliach had hurried to join his uncle and cousin and no one seemed to take note of the stranger among them for a time. Yet, as the minutes fled by Elladan felt the influence of potent energy coalescing in the clearing, beneficent and clean like the soul of the forest or some sweet susurrus of the divine. Uncertain if this was really a manifestation of the deity the sylvans worshiped or a collective outpouring of their own essential light, Elladan decided it didn't matter, for here was that cogent sylvan magic fabled throughout elvendom, and he was pleased to believe Legolas would recover.

Suddenly a hoarse cry resounded, both jubilant and stricken, as Thranduil fell upon his nephew, the two weeping and laughing together, for Legolas had stirred and regained his mind almost the exact instant Elladan acknowledged the power at work, as though he'd been awaiting Elladan's implicit determination, the seal of certainty to bind his earlier demand upon the child to live. The whole crowd gave voice to praises for their forest god and broke into song, but their jubilation was interrupted by the wounded prince's broken discontent that took the form of a diatribe so raw, so honest, so repudiating that none could bear it and down on their knees they dropped anew, hands covering offended ears as eyes wept and throats groaned.

"Monster! Beast! You let them take her! She was alive! Alive!"

His voice shrilled, hysterical and accusing, distorted with wearing pain and bleak hatred; Elladan could perceive the frantic efforts he made to invoke his vengeance physically by the awful struggle the healers made to hold him fast, to prevent him undoing the hard work just enjoined to haul him back from the door-step of Mandos.

"Nay, Legolas!" Horrified and consumed in remorse, Thranduil denied the charge.

"You let them take my mother and they killed her! They killed her, but not quickly, no." The child had regained his feet somehow and looked tall standing amid the kneeling populace. His arm was raised and his hand accused the King. "They picked at her wounds with their filthy claws and they stripped her of her clothes and cut off her hair. They chased her stumbling about the trees for sport, and when she fell they leaped atop her and rutted in foul and brutish delight. You let them do that to my mother! Fiend! Worse than Orc, foul demon heart! They raped my mother as she lay bleeding to death. And where were you?"

"I could not reach her! I could not!" Ragged and frantic the excuse rang out, but was ignored.

"When they were done and her blood all but spent, they gave her to the Necromancer and he consumed her light…"

"No!" A horrified exclamation arose from the multitude and many rose to their feet and ran from the dell.

"…drew the spirit out of her and fed his heartless, soul-less void with it, filled his black void with my mother's light and grew strong on it."

The sound that escaped Thranduil's soul was incoherent and agonised, a stricken howl as he fell upon his face and clutched a grassy wad of earth in either fist, groaning and keening.

"When there was nothing left but her body, the orcs hacked it to pieces with her own long knife. Then they handed it over to me red with her blood and sullied with the meat of her organs. They handed that to me, thinking mayhap I would plunge it into my heart, but I killed them with it. It is not now in my hands, or I would kill you with it, too."

Dense stillness settled on every heart at the conclusion of this speech, heightened by the muted and tearful prayers of the stricken people. The gentle, puissant, healing spirit retreated from the glade and left it cold despite the brilliance of the sun streaming down. Elladan found he was on his feet, mouth ajar and eyes staring at the scene as son indicted father and rendered judgement and sentence in the same breath. The stunned paralytic silence gave way under the sound of Thranduil's torment, an unbearable noise as he pleaded brokenly with his son to understand, to listen, to forgive. Legolas had no room in his blasted soul for mercy and repeated his father's doom.

"If I had it still, I would kill you with it." 

"Elladan!" Elrohir raised his voice, more disturbed than ever as his brother failed to heed his voice. He relaxed somewhat as Elladan registered his efforts with a flood of colour that as quickly drained. "Answer, Muindor, for you alarm me. How came you to be barred from Greenwood? It cannot be true that you did some crime against them after saving the child."

"Aye, you think so, but you cannot know and I would not like to say. I am forbidden because I…I could not leave him there and he would not there stay." Elladan twitched as he mouthed this incoherent half-lie, shooting a quick glance at his brother to see if it would pass. I did not.

Elrohir frowned in irritation. "Nay, Elladan, you must say it all." He again grasped his brother's arm and this time held it. "I am sorry, but you must speak of it. Do not reduce it to mere summation. What is it that you cannot share with me?" Elladan's jaw tightened and he turned his face away, remained silent. "I have forborne to press you until now, but I will hear from you the reason for your misery. Speak, Elladan." Still his brother refused, eyes averted and body rigidly tense, and Elrohir tried another tactic. "It seems to me the rearguard should have been able to catch up to him more quickly. How is it you came upon mother and child first?"

"They were engaged anew and cut off; it was a slaughter, a holocaust, horrible and hopeless. The Wood Elves had been ambushed or entrapped and were grossly outnumbered, their forces splintered and each clot of warriors surrounded." The account poured out rapidly, frantically, as though Elladan hoped to appease his brother's curiosity and distress by describing the gory battle scenes. "The boy vaulted onto a loose charger running near us and they went racing away. Most of the horses had fallen, dead or dying, and many had taken their riders down to their doom, crushed or pinned, helpless against the onslaught of the orcs. There was no one else who could follow. Frantic yelling came at me now from the warriors to whom I'd tried to bring the child.

"They were hemmed in by their foes yet still fighting desperately to save themselves, to break through and save him, but an expanse of roiling fury separated me from them and they from his disappearing form as the horse bore him away. Archers with no more arrows to fire flung themselves from the limbs, confronting the orcs with knives and daggers, beating at them with their unstrung bows, all struggling hand to hand. One of the warriors shouted at me to go, his roaring voice filled with the arrogance of long command and the anguished terror of a father. 'Get him, Peredhel fool! Bring him back! Save my son!' I spared only a second to stare at his enraged and frightened and pleading eyes, for it stung to be so ill-used as though I had caused this tragedy, and then I did as my own heart bade me do.

"The time seemed so short between the losing and the finding, but it must have been long. Vaguely I recall resistance as I pursued him; I was nicked here and there, but my determination was great and they were in retreat having got not one prize but two. By the time I came upon the captives, all had transpired as I wrote save that I saw them hand him the blade, saw that they had cruelly stabbed him in the shoulder and the thigh to weaken him, saw that they meant to do with him as they had with her." Here Elladan faltered again and lowered his face into his hands, desperate to hold back the agony that threatened his heart. "I do not want to say more."

"Nay, but you must," Elrohir soothed. "Do not confine within your heart alone."

An exhausted sigh heaved at Elladan's chest and his hands fell away listlessly. "You should not make this demand; it is not only my story. He would not want me to tell."

"It is necessary," countered Elrohir. "Adar agrees, and I do not believe the child would wish for you to suffer so for the help you gave him." That made his brother flinch and it stung his heart to see it, but he must know the truth.

"You do not know what you ask," Elladan began speaking again, his voice low and morose. "Yet I wanted to speak to you, Elrohir, and share this with you; this which has become the centre of my existence, both in despair and hope."

"Then do so; I am here, ready to listen!"

The eagerness in his brother's voice did not please Elladan and he felt more certain than ever that there were limits upon what he could reveal. He sighed again and met the shining grey eyes identical to his own, wondering not for the first time how it was that they were such mirrors of one another in all things, for did not the reflection upon the glass reveal the inverse of that which faced it?

"Elladan, do not drift off again," Elrohir entreated, squeezing his wrist anew. "Speak!" But it was some minutes more before his brother would do so and Elrohir had the impression he was weighing things in his heart carefully. Just when he was prepared to accuse him of seeking a means to circumvent the truth, Elladan resumed his account.

"He accepted the knife calmly, face blank, the shock of what he'd seen too much to encompass, but then as he held it his eyes came alive and he raised it, watched cruor streak its length and drip onto his fist. He turned and looked upon what was left of her, and everything in him broke, Elrohir: mind, heart, and spirit. What he did then… I have never seen anything like it before and hope never to again. The kin-slayers must have been like that: mad, soul-shattered wretches. So much hate, so much pain was pouring from him that my own suddenly seemed superficial and trifling, for at that moment his hatred encompassed everything. Everything. His heart's crushing thoughts were plain: if she must die such a death, then nothing else should persist; all must perish, good and ill alike. Everything must end then and there.

"The menacing pall of Shadow that had nearly stopped my arrival withdrew before the fury of his mindless, ravening rage. The orcs who had been his captors and her murderers were cut down by that silver blade; cut down with terribly efficient skill utilised in utter savagery. Stunned a moment by what I was witnessing, I raised sword at last and helped him finish them. I reached him in time to take the knife even as he thrust it into his stomach.

"The stab was deep and I wasn't sure if he would survive; plainly he did not want to and even now I am not certain whether I was cruel to stop his hand. I didn't want to fail her, or the distraught elven king, or myself. I wanted him to live. It was a selfish decision, for the brutality he'd endured must mar him, change him, but in that moment I saw him as he was before: young and fair and pure. Such an end ought not come to such as he."

Elladan fell silent and rose from his seat, paced the circumference of the room before stopping by the radiant hearth. He stared into the orange embers and Elrohir watched him, troubled and still ignorant of what had happened in the aftermath of this tragedy. He joined his brother and for a time they merely remained side by side gazing into the decaying fire as he mulled over the narration thus far. Too many gaps remained. What could be so damning that Elladan would hide it even from him? Hidden it he had, carefully and jealously. The word shocked Elrohir even as it gelled in his mind, and he almost turned away from the investigation, fearing what unconscious assessment had produced it, but there were those six months of absence for which he would have an account. _Six months._ His brother had completely disappeared, physically and from Elrohir's thoughts, their mental link wholly severed for the first time since their conception.

"I searched, Elladan," he softly rebuked, unable to conceal his umbrage, and saw his brother cringe.

"I am sorry for any grief my actions visited upon you or Adar," Elladan hastily apologised and lifted his face to his brother's. "You must understand by that very necessity to which you were forced how serious this is to me."

"I do, but you say nothing!" Elrohir chided. "What of this banishment?"

"Some things do not belong to me alone. I will not speak of those."

"Nothing in which you are involved has ever been kept secret from me before." Elrohir's good heart was bruised; he felt betrayed and abruptly the reason burst upon his mind: Elladan had created a bond with this traumatised woodland child, a bond apart from that which the brothers had shared even in the womb.

"Come, do not take me to task for it," Elladan pleaded, tired and miserable, for he saw that Elrohir now understood the essential truth. This would not end well. "I am sure there are some things you would shield from me, Muindoren." He raised a hand only to have it dashed away.

"You speak as though of minor trivialities whilst you have been missing for half a coronar? For the sake of this child? You made a bond with him to salvage his life. Ah! You cannot deny it! Am I untrustworthy to share your burdens now?"

"Nay, Elrohir, do not be angry," Elladan entreated, but Elrohir turned away and resumed his seat in sullen silence. "You would have done the same," but Elladan was not so sure about that. He had hoped no bitterness would result from their brief estrangement and his sudden decision. How could he explain that it was no burden at all, but the most natural course to take? He stood studying his brother, at a loss as to how to mend things. "I had not time to consider; I had to choose, to act, else Legolas would die."

"Your action was extreme and your decision now cannot be changed."

"It was, but I would have chosen the same no matter the time or place of the choosing." He could see that shocked Elrohir and guilt crept into his heart. "I know you were - are - considering the Gift of Men, but I have never entertained it since the passing of …for a very long time."

"What do you say?" Elrohir rose, livid and trembling, fists curled into hard knots. "Since whose passing?"

"It does not matter, Elrohir. I tried to remain uncommitted for your sake, for fear to influence you against your heart's needs."

"How noble and good!" Elrohir was furious. "How could such deceit be beneficial to me? You would wait until I made up my mind and then reveal that you never considered any but the life of the Eldar? What if I chose otherwise; we would be parted forever!"

"Aye, yet it is not my right to insist you choose against your true wishes for my sake, nor for you to demand such of me, either," Elladan shot back, distressed to have this argument come up now when he needed most for them to be in accord. They were like children again, he mused, Elrohir sulking until he got his way. He frowned; he had grown far removed from such games. "I am sorry to have angered you, but I am not going to speak more, especially when you are in this petulant mood."

"Petulant!" Elrohir jumped from the chair, countenance livid to receive this insult.

"Aye! I have need of the comfort of an understanding heart and yours instead is absorbed in your petty distress and …"

"Petty! I searched for you, wandering this earth from end to end, yet no sign could I discover. You locked me out, sealed your mind and heart away from me! I thought you dead! This you call petty and my just concerns petulance!"

"Well, you are thoroughly riled now, brother, so then I will leave you to it," Elladan sneered and stalked out of the room.

"Are you really going to walk away?" Elrohir followed him to the door, watched as he opened it and went through, pausing long enough to shoot a hurt and accusing glare over his shoulder. Seeing him vanish round a corner was frightening, and Elrohir sped after him, caught him at the top of the stairs, caught him at the arm and held. "You are not leaving the valley, are you? Do not go, Elladan. I am sorry for my harsh reaction."

The real love and genuine anguish reverberating through those syllables cleared the fury from Elladan's brow and he smiled, clasped the arm that prevented his progress. "Nay, I am not leaving. Let me go off and sulk a time, then we shall talk again. Yet I must ask that you keep this news between us for now. Will you agree to that much for me? I am not ready to discuss this with Adar, or anyone else."

"Indeed, you did not want to discuss it with me," Elrohir rejoined sadly, but he was through with his wrath and wanted peace. "I will do as you ask and hold your secret safe." He gave Elladan's arm another firm squeeze and released him, watching him go, cursing himself for giving way to his anger. _I was petulant._ He of all people knew this was not the way to breech Elladan's formidable defences. Thinking over their talk, he recalled the allusion to a written account and took himself to the seneschal's office to find it, entering in without knocking.

"What news?" Erestor asked, rising from the desk to come close and embrace Elrohir.

The younger twin returned the clasp with more feeling than he was wont to reveal and failed to suppress a disgruntled sigh. "Nothing. He's alive and well, but as taciturn and stubborn as ever. He'll say nothing about where he was or what he was doing, save to reference that awful event in Greenwood. Where was he after that, Erestor, and why won't he tell me?"

"Elbereth, it is a bad fate he has stumbled into," groused Erestor, not pleased to have his family sucked into Mirkwood's darkness. Yet, he could not deny that Elladan had gone there of his own volition. "Rather, he did not just accidentally encounter it; his noble heart drove him to give aid to those in desperate need. That he should be punished for it is galling."

"It is that which I need to understand," Elrohir met his kinsman's glowering gaze. "I need to read that report, Erestor."

"So be it," Erestor shrugged and moved to a cabinet, rifled among the papers and scrolls, withdrew one and brought it to Elrohir. "You will not find anything extraordinary in it. Elladan was truthful to a fault, as he ever is, and the details are beyond graphic, but there is no explanation of why he defied Thranduil. All of that was to be forgotten, you see, once Celeborn decreed the King should have his child and Thranduil took him away back home."

Elrohir frowned as he accepted the scroll, unconvinced. "There must be something." Erestor was shaking his head, arms folding across his chest, and his attitude annoyed Elrohir immensely. "There must be something everyone has overlooked."

"Read and you will see," advised the councillor quietly. He set a kindly hand on Elrohir's shoulder. "I do not mean to be discouraging, but there is little revealed beyond the bald facts. Admittedly, those are harrowing enough. What more that your brother kept in his heart, only to you is he likely to reveal it, and if not to you then none shall ever know it."

He led Elrohir to a comfortable chair and sat him down in it, took the one beside it himself and yanked it closer. Whatever was going to happen, he did not want Elrohir to face it alone. They shared a quiet look and then the scroll was spread open across their knees. Elladan's precise hand neatly filled the available space, the tale strangely told in third person as though he'd only watched it transpire, or heard of it second-hand. 

Oh, Soul, poisoned and tortured and beaten bloody, reeved and riven  
from this flesh, my slowly decaying corpse which houses now only this  
disconnected and broken mind. Soul-shattered seeing that feels and knows and weeps yet has no voice.  
Lost, long ago lost, so many Ages full of choice words spoken and meaning taken, meaning less,  
and the howling is a silent storm that rages only in my empty breast. 


	4. Chapter 4

Completion _TA 2917, Imladris_

"I have been waiting for you a very long time."

"Indeed?" Elladan was startled; he didn't know this ellon. Did he? He scanned the fair features, lithe limbs, golden hair. A sense of familiarity inundated his mind, but he could not call up the memory with his desire rising. Mayhap he'd had him in Lorien. _I would surely remember that._ No matter, the mystery would resolve itself later. For now he would play along and encourage this quaint seduction. "How long?"

"A little more than two hundred fifty years," laughed Legolas. "Not much according to your lifetime, but it is almost the whole of mine." He peered at Elladan closely; he didn't seem to know him at all and while that was disconcerting in many ways, it also presented the possibility of a clever prank that would definitely avenge the oversight.

"Then, let me cause you no further inconvenience. Come." Elladan held out his hand and instantly long slender fingers blanketed his palm. He closed his around them and drew the ellon to his side; he was even more magnificent in the full light of the blazing fire. Together they exited the Hall, unconscious of the sudden hush that followed them out or by the volley of murmuring voices that arose once they'd gone, all of which normally Elladan liked to acknowledge. Tonight his every nerve was attuned only to his partner and eagerly he guided him through the house toward the back stairs.

He soon found that the connection of their conjoined hands was not enough and before they'd traversed half the corridor, Elladan groped him and kissed him all at once, tongue and hands lewdly exploring. He tasted fully the richness of the willing mouth while one hand burrowed down tight leggings and the other teased sensitive ears. The force of his advance crushed Legolas against a wall and held him there so that all he could do was grab on to Elladan's tunic and cling for dear life. There was much squirming and muffled squealing and at last Elladan broke the kiss to see what his hand had found, grinning and exhaling a loud sigh of appreciation. He stroked the resilient organ and rejoiced in the gasp of delight this raised.

"Something of beauty," he whispered in hushed and husky fervour, leaning in to steal another kiss.

"Nay, nay, not like this, not here." The gentle reproof was breathless and frantic and more than a little exasperated. ""Tis unseemly."

Elladan looked up from the sensuous lips that had just uttered this chastisement to find imploring eyes trained upon him and immediately dropped his gaze, ashamed, heat and colour flushing his face uncomfortably. Quickly and carefully he removed his hand from the leggings and took an awkward step back, glancing up and down the hallway to be sure none were watching, then found it impossible to meet those sapphire eyes. He stared at the fingers wrapped round his forearm instead and murmured: "Forgive me, I got rather overwhelmed and carried away." The slender digits let go his sleeve and raised his chin; he smiled to find himself the object of compassionate examination.

Legolas came forward into the small space opened between them and filled it, not satisfied with just a kiss, though he took that softly and sweetly, pressing the full length of his body against Elladan, finding he yearned for the sensation of the hard, strong warrior covering him. Elladan's hands came and settled at his waist to hold him with perfect modesty and Legolas shook with the thrill that ran through his bones. "Ai Valar," he whispered, "just get me to a private place."

Elladan was glad to do so, taking him by the hand again and leading him rapidly up the stairs, neither of them speaking a word. Finally they reached his rooms and no sooner had the door latched behind them then he resumed his ravishing attention, this time stripping off his lover's tunic and ripping open the soft silk shirt, tasting and partaking of warm resilient skin and ardent lips that met his with equal abandon. He caressed smooth apricot flesh and thumbed bright scarlet nipples, firm and erect. He felt the power in shoulders and arms trained to wield the bow, dipped his head and nipped at the elegant length of the archer's neck, fondled an ear, all in silence save the struggle to gather sufficient oxygen to fuel his mounting ardor, all while resisting the attempts his partner made to uncover him in turn.

Elladan wanted control and would order things as he desired, taking as given his right to do so, the idea so ingrained it never entered his mind consciously. Later, perhaps, he would permit his lover greater freedom. All the while he pushed and tugged him toward the sofa, toppling him over the upholstered arm rest onto it, and there opened the leggings and freed the lovely organ he'd handled covertly in the hallway. Grinning, he leaned low and lapped daintily at its pinnacle while the nearly naked elf writhed and moaned and sank those elegant fingers into his hair.

"Oh, will you not do more?" he panted in desperation, trying to prod and persuade the mouth to sink lower and devour him, and at once regretted his demands. The attention ceased and he looked to find a most predatory expression evaluating him. His heart gave a stumbling squeeze of misgiving and he made an ineffectual effort to get some distance between them, scooting back on the cushions which in fact only made him more accessible. "Elladan."

"You want more?" Elladan crooned in seductively dangerous tones, straightening as he lifted one of the long, lean legs and pulled of the soft leather boot at the end, sliding silk hose away until the slender foot was exposed. He held it by the ankle a moment and stared, amazed that even this utilitarian aspect of his lover's body was so erotic. He hurriedly uncovered its twin and then parted the legs, coming in between them to grip the red erection. A low cry and a spontaneous thrust of the archer's hips greeted this manoeuvre and he laughed. "You want more." Grasping the stiff organ, he pulled up and with a frantic curse the rump lifted so that his free hand was able to jerk the leggings down enough to bare everything to the knees. He fondled tender balls and squeezed.

"Elladan!"

He let go to untie his leggings and expose his rigid cock, fisting it and pumping it so that clear beads welled at its tip and ran down to be smeared over the velvety flesh. The golden ellon's eyes were locked on it, lips parted and breath suspended. Elladan grunted and thrust into his hand, wanting to shove his penis between those ruby lips, and at once their eyes met. It was impossible to resist the urge overtaking them both and Elladan grabbed Legolas at the hips and deftly flipped him over, almost immediately mounting him, face suddenly astonished and then wickedly jubilant. He lunged into the warm, wet channel, tore through the thin membrane of the hymen, and raised a shout of pain and stunned shock that exhilarated him.

In and out he rocked, groaning and grunting his pleasure, caring not at all if he was giving the same for it was too good, too exciting to be the first to do this to such an incredibly beautiful ellon. Abruptly he retreated from the narrow opening and realigned himself, thrusting forcefully into the anus this time, and the shriek that arose from his prey turned him wild-hearted and primitive. He redoubled the power of his penetrating force and held the slim form still beneath him, fingers digging in, and watched in fascination as his erection advanced and retreated, spearing him over and over.

He owned this body struggling to accommodate his invasive copulation, owned this person body and soul, flesh and spirit, blood and bone down to the marrow of him as no other ever would. The realisation was exhilarating beyond any previous experience Elladan had ever known and he couldn't last under such circumstances. He came with a resounding shout of triumph, a shuddering brilliance surrounding him so he didn't even know if the ellon had followed him into ecstasy. When his vision cleared, Elladan laughed in victorious joy and pulled out, turned his love over and kissed him, more hungry than before, gratified and proud to spy a creamy smear coating the flat belly. He lapped it up greedily.

"Now, you are mine," he announced, surveying the dazed face and the dreamy eyes with pleased and possessive happiness. He pulled the sagging leggings off the rest of the way and threw them aside.

"Yours," repeated Legolas, lungs heaving, eyes fixed on the compelling and comely face, so smug and exultant. Yet he smiled, for nothing less had he hoped to see and to see it he had travelled a thousand leagues and more in defiance of his father and the law of his decree. In so doing he was exiled, but so he had been since the day Elladan left him; exiled among his own people beneath the trees of the forest he loved. "Yours, as ever I have been," he murmured.

Warmth filled Elladan's heart to hear this and he gathered Legolas up in his arms, kissed him as lean arms encircled his neck, and made for the bedroom, there tossing him atop the quilts. He stripped without preamble or preening and climbed in beside him, propped himself on an elbow to observe more closely the prize he'd won.

"You have a name, melethron vain (beautiful lover)?" He whispered the query, mesmerised by the light in the vivd blue eyes. Even as he watched, the expression transformed into surprised and anguished disbelief.

"Ai, Elladan, do you really not know me, even now?" Legolas pouted and moved away a little, but the fun of the joke left him as worry entered in. What if he truly did not remember?

"I do … I think," stammered Elladan, deeply chagrined for himself and his mate. _Mate!_ The term rose up as a truth he could not deny, no more did he wish to, and instantly he was certain. "Ai, Legolas, it is you!"

"Who else?" demanded Legolas, feigning a huff, for now he saw Elladan knew him completely and was relieved. "Ai, Elladan, did you really forget me?"

"Never, never!" insisted Elladan and kissed him hard, cinched steely arms about him and rolled to the side so they lay facing one another, comfortable and content. Then he took his time to survey the changes time had wrought upon his beloved. His fingers touched upon an old scar at the left shoulder, puckered and white. Instantly he searched for its counterpart on the left thigh and found it, the colour still dark maroon as though it had only healed a month ago. "You have grown up. When last I saw you, it was that awful night in Greenwood. You were but a child then, so weary and ill and pale, and I scarcely recognise you now."

"You have not changed in the least," Legolas said softly, stroking the face he remembered in exacting detail and allowing his hand to move where his eyes led it, touching shoulders and mapping the broad chest where dark nipples were hard and tight, drifting lower over firm abdominal muscles where a thin track of fine black hair directed his exploration into the thick mass of damp curls and the impressive organ that had just torn him open and sent him soaring into pleasures heretofore unknown. He watched Elladan as he handled the heavy cock and lightly palmed the silky sac, rolling the testicles within it carefully. Elladan grunted and shifted closer as he began to fill and harden, Legolas' body responding in kind.

"Do you like what you see?" Elladan asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it aloud, but nearly at once he didn't care for the friction was sweet. He rocked in time with it and settled his hand over Legolas', training the motion to his preference. "Oh, good, so good."

He rolled to his back and watched Legolas stroke him, encouraging the masturbation with deep moans and long sighs and a sudden twitch of his cock that clearly pleased and surprised his mate. Elladan grinned and sat up, grabbed Legolas and kissed him and pressed him down as he parted the slender legs and took him again. If anything he was more ravening than the first time and yet claimed him slowly, deliberately, emphasising his mastery and documenting the reaction raised by every move he made.

"Do you like it, Legolas? Is it good for you?"

He was not displeased to find Legolas could not answer beyond a luxurious moan, lost in the sensations overtaking him. He stayed in the tight warm hole and worked the archer's penis in time with his thrusts, pushing him toward orgasm, eagerly watching as it overtook him suddenly, and then he pitched himself violently into bliss after him. They lay still for some minutes, remaining conjoined, and parted only to settle in one another's arms, content and comfortable. Elladan felt peace gather in his soul and sighed, kissing the source of this healing, then hugged him, then gazed long into the azure eyes.

"I can scarcely believe you are here with me."

"It has been my one goal since that night."

Elladan stared at him in wonder; how had he known then, in the midst of such adversity and suffering, that the bond would hold so true? He had not been as certain. Indeed, he had listened to the counsel of his father, his brother, his grandparents, all of whom had told him to forget Legolas. He had succeeded, in part, devoting himself to the vow and employing it to vent his frustration and rage. But the memories never left, returning in reverie to haunt and torment him, and truly Elladan had come to believe that Legolas was dead and he grieving unto a slow death by fading.

Legolas smiled, seeing this painful quandary flood Elladan's eyes. "You are a conundrum, Elladan o Imladris," he asserted, tracing his fingers across the high forehead and down the smooth cheek to drift amid the ebony locks falling all around them.

"Me? Nay. I was just thinking that very thing about you." He imitated the caresses, finding he loved the texture of the golden mane and carried the handful he held to his nose, inhaling the faintly smoky remnant of a campfire.

"Well do I know it, but my situation is simplicity itself to comprehend." Legolas watched this small act of devoted exploration and felt a powerful surge of love sweep through him. He shuffled nearer, suddenly as amazed as Elladan that he was here in his arms. He nuzzled against the broad bare chest and sighed as lips compressed against his head.

"Yes? Enlighten me, beloved."

"You came upon me little more than a heartbeat from death and claimed my very soul for your own. It was you or Námo, beloved. I think I made the right decision to cling to the hope of the strong argent light that comprises your feä."

"Ai, Legolas."

"'You must live for me; I cannot bear to lose you to such an end.' To that I have held, believing in my heart that you were waiting for me. Thus you captured me, Elladan, snatching my spirit back from its flight, for I was following her. Yet, she is not in Mandos and my end would have been hers: consumed by Darkness. Had you not bound me to you, I would have truly been lost." He said it quietly and without embellishment, but there was no denying that the words contained the essence of his existence, the definition of his life and fate.

"I felt it," Elladan conceded with a shiver, recalling the scene vividly. It was this that had united them: both their mothers were taken by Shadow, though for Celebrian there was hope for renewal of her spirit in Aman. For Legolas' mother, no such healing was possible and she was lost forever. He shuddered, thinking anew how near Legolas had come to the same end, and the embrace of the archer's lean arms comforted him. "I know now; I was directed to Greenwood solely for the purpose of saving you and thus myself. I have only been waiting for the passing of the years until you came of age to make your own determination of what your place in the world would be. Ah, such difficult years," he whispered, watching the play of emotions flashing through the blue eyes, changing the intensity of their colour from sunlit summer sky to dark indigo, and knew they had not been as completely without doubts as Legolas might claim. _And no wonder, since I left him there alone._ "You cannot know how I have worried. I have thought of you every day since then, and ever have you looked as you did then. You were in such pain and I have never been so helpless, so useless!"

"Nay, do not speak of it, beloved," implored Legolas, hands moving to cover the lips that awoke such frightful memories. They kissed again and he snuggled closer, so relieved and glad to be with Elladan, and rested his ear against the broad chest, inhaled deeply the scent of his mate. "Alas, did none of my efforts to send news reach you?" he sighed and lifted his head to see the answer, which was negative. "I thought as much since no word ever came to me from you, either. I am sorry for that."

"It was not your doing or mine," Elladan corrected him, softly stroking the golden hair and running the strands through his fingers. "I see that you are well now and that will have to be enough for me, though to have had a letter written by your hand would have given me both joy and hope."

"Aye, for me also. I had to pretend to forget about you, Elladan. I could not bear the contention between me and Adar. He would not hear your name and forbade any reference to that day. He even refused to speak my mother's name. He still does not."

"Ai, that is a sign of the depth of his sorrow," sighed Elladan, realising now that he had been unfeeling in his judgement of the Sindarin King. How would he manage if Legolas were… Instantly his heart froze and he blocked the thought from resolving, unconsciously grabbing the archer close in a crushing embrace.

"What is it?" Legolas hugged him back, heart pounding in time with the wild beat thundering through Elladan's pulse.

"Nothing, beloved. I think I understand him better now, your father, for I do not think I could survive if…" and he couldn't speak the words.

"You will never face that," Legolas propped himself on an elbow to gaze into the troubled grey eyes, seeing there the half-healed wounds engraved upon Elladan's soul. "We have both lost someone precious and irreplaceable," he said solemnly. "We have been through fire and survived it, the two of us. It is enough sorrow for two lifetimes; now Vairë will be gentle with our weary hearts. We are to know joy, you and I, and I will make you whole again even as you will restore me."

Elladan smiled, believing this utterly since it was the absolute truth for Legolas, and pulled his mate down to him, rolled atop him, sealed their mouths together. He made love to him slowly and carefully, filled with gratitude and wonder, knowing that he was the archer's first and only lover and wanting to give him the fullness of pleasure. Their union was of a nature beyond the physical gratification of his previous encounters, but Elladan was in the habit of taking from his lovers whatever they were willing to give and truly did not comprehend what was happening. Legolas was inclined to deliver over whatever Elladan required, his love and desire knowing no bounds save to heal the broken places his soul touched upon in his mate's fëa. Their joy was supplemented by this exchange of light, Elladan receiving, Legolas giving each time they coupled. The evening grew older and at length Legolas was fatigued beyond exhaustion.

"I am worn out," he admitted sheepishly when questioned. "Ai, and sore! No one mentioned that to me."

"Did they not?" Elladan chuckled and held him close, aglow with light that was not his own before, all trace of the rancour and despondency wrought by his allegiance to the vow expunged. He relished the warmth of the supple body beneath him, the insight that it was Legolas who had healed him filling his heart with jubilance and he kissed his languid lover fiercely. "Oh, what a grace it is to have you here, my own love, here in my bed, in my heart, in my life forevermore!" he declared fervently. There was no response and he realised Legolas was limp in his arms and suddenly drew back, finding him drifting into reverie, for so he deemed it. "Rest, beloved, and I will go forth to retrieve something to soothe your discomfort."

He rose from the bed and covered himself in a long robe, glancing once more at the glorious ellon before leaving the room, as though to reassure himself this was all really happening, smiling in giddy happiness to see his mate lying there spent and resplendently debauched. He was halfway to the main stairway of the house before Legolas' eyes drifted shut and his depleted body dropped into a deathly dormancy.

On the landing he hesitated. He could certainly go to his father and ask for what he required, but Elladan balked at that, unwilling to endure the reproving grimace Elrond tried but never could completely stifle. His disapprobation was always silent, but it stung nonetheless and Elladan had no desire to suffer it tonight. Instead, he would go out to the House of Healing and procure the salve from the general stores, having no wish to go prowling in the barracks infirmary either. Too many people would be watching for him and for the first time in many long centuries Elladan did not want to share anything about his new lover.

_That is because he is no mere lover, but my own mate._

Thinking it made his heart glow with happiness and he smiled, hastening toward the front door so that he might the sooner return to the bonding-bed. Even as his hand lifted to grasp the handle, the door was pushed open from without to reveal Elrohir and Arador on the front stoop, the former tired and aggravated, the latter still angry and still complaining loudly.

"No welcome, is that the hospitality Imladris extends to the Dúnadan? A salute at the borders meant for you and not so much as a brief greeting from your stern and haughty seneschal who…" The man's voice died away as he beheld Elladan standing there when the portal swung wide, and then his brow clouded, taking in the deshabille of the elder twin. He raised a pointing hand accusingly. "I see you have lost no time beginning your revelries."

"Arador, you might wish to mind that wayward tongue of yours tonight," Elladan warned, though he was too happy to take the man's absurd chiding seriously. He moved to embrace Elrohir only to find his brother gaping at him with mouth ajar. "Elrohir, what ails you?"

"Muindor, what have you done?" Elrohir demanded, seeing plainly the newly made bond in the star-shot grey eyes, his brother's elvish light bursting with vitality. Instantly his mind ran back to the night Elladan admitted he had made his choice to forevermore remain among the First-born and the bond enjoined then; misgivings filled his heart. It could not be. "What have you done?"

"Elrohir, it is the most wondrous thing," Elladan began to divulge the source of his joy but his brother cut him off.

"Who is it?" he demanded sharply, dreading the answer, knowing that Elladan could not have kept such a secret from him, could not have courted a mate and kept it hidden. He ran through the catalogue of every elf his brother had bedded over the long centuries of their vow but none seemed likely candidates for so permanent a union. There was only one person Elladan had ever treasured to that degree. The name was on his lips even as Elladan spoke it.

"Aye, your insight is true; it is Legolas!" Elladan announced with such exuberant delight that his aura expanded in brilliant sparks of golden splendour. He went on without noticing his brother's incredulous displeasure. "He was here waiting for me, Elrohir, and he's in my rooms right now, sleeping like the dead," here he chuckled half in pride, half in self-conscious embarrassment to be boasting, "and I'm off to get something soothing to ease the soreness. He is…"

"The child of the woods?" Elrohir broke in, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing, though it was the answer he'd expected. "Elladan, this is madness! He cannot possibly join in our quest."

"A youth?" Arador exclaimed, shocked on two counts. "Am I to understand you have taken as mate a male and a youth at that?" The scandalised Chieftain was ignored.

"I would not ask him to do so," Elladan countered quietly. "Being my mate doe not mean he must swear the vow that we have sworn."

"Then you mean to break our oath," Elrohir accused. He took a step away and crossed his arms over his heart, the air between them filling with tension.

"I do not mean to do any such thing and I'll ask your apology for suggesting it," Elladan demanded, standing tall and drawing the robe more fully over his body. He waited, but silence reigned.

"You cannot have it both ways," Elrohir finally blurted out contemptuously. "Either he joins us or you remain at his side and abandon our cause. Which is it to be?"

"Neither!" Elladan shouted, confused and upset for he had not had time to think about any of this, too consumed in the joy of the bond. "How can this be your response to the greatest joy my heart has ever known?"

"Ai Elbereth!" Elrohir hissed under his breath, shaking his head in dismay. "It is impossible! He cannot be more than three hundred or so; what can he know of life or love? He will not be able to sustain the bond and then what of your heart? Am I to lose you to Mandos once this woodland prince finds his soul was not quite so tightly knitted to yours after all and deserts you?"

"Daro!" Elladan could barely contain his ire, deeply hurt to hear such disparagement of his beloved. "You will take back those words now if you love me at all," he demanded. "You know nothing of Legolas and your criticism is inexcusable."

"What is inexcusable is your abrogation of our compact," retorted Elrohir, jealous and aggrieved, "and not for the first time, may I add. We were neither to enjoin such a soul-bond while the burden of the vow rests upon us. You have chosen this sylvan prince in favour of your own mother."

"What do you mean? I have done no such thing," Elladan denied this charge angrily, finding it an egregious suggestion. "I need not choose the one over the other, I am glad to say, yet I do not believe Nana would contest my heart's need as you do now. If you must know, it was Legolas who had to make a hard choice and he is here, Elrohir. He has left Greenwood to be here with me, to be my mate."

There was silence again after this, for it was clear Elladan was not to be moved by such arguments and Elrohir knew he was in the wrong to use them. They glared fiercely, identical grimaces of hurt and fury trained upon one another, neither able to back down. Oh, Elrohir regretted it now, but his wounded feelings could not be squelched, and it was too late to take back his bitter words. Into this uneasy quiet Arador imposed himself and succeeded in giving them a means to reconciliation, though it was hardly his intention when he spoke.

"I am glad to hear the elf is not so much a youth after all, though among elf-kind it nearly is so at only three hundred, but a Wood Elf is hardly a worthy match for one descended from the highest among the Three Kindreds. More, it is unseemly to claim a male for a spouse. Bed-sport, aye, Elladan, and surely this is just another dalliance as many you have enjoyed before. Bedding him has done you good, even my feeble human eyes can observe this much, but you need not give over your soul…"

His ill-chosen words were never finished, for Elrohir suddenly rounded on him and landed a blow upon the offending lips that sent the man to the floor, blood pouring from the torn flesh and the gaping hole left by the tooth that had been knocked loose. He was insensate and the brothers stared at him, Elrohir flexing his fingers to shake off the stinging discomfort accosting his knuckles, Elladan too surprised to do anything. He met his brother's gaze and a shrug answered, for Elrohir was not sorry.

_It is not his place to take you to task, but mine. Besides, I am weary of his carping discontent. I have ridden these many days in his company, night and day, and he well earned that punishment._

_Thank you for taking my part._

_Always, Muindoren._

_Always?_ Relief and gratitude flooded Elladan upon hearing this word, for it could mean only one thing.

"Aye. I made my choice all those years ago as soon as I knew yours was decided. I could not abide ever going to a place where you could never join me."

"And kept silent for all those years while I worried over it in guilt-ridden anxiety. Why?"

"You forced my hand and I resented it," Elrohir could say this much of the truth and knew his brother understood the rest anyway. He sighed heavily. "It will not be easy to share you."

"The bond between us is inviolate as is the vow we have spoken. As always, we will find the best way to continue, and if Legolas must join us, he will do so without question."

"I cannot so easily believe it will mean anything to him to rid Eriador of the evil infecting it when his own world is so tainted."

"Nay, having endured such constant strife he will be more inclined to defeat Shadow's designs wherever he finds them. As he is my mate, he has joined his life to mine and will do as I do." He could see Elrohir was doubtful, but Elladan was certain all this would change once he met Legolas. Glad that the discord between them was lessened, he smiled and pulled his brother into a quick, close embrace. "Say that you are happy for me, Elrohir," he insisted, releasing him. "Even if you do not mean it yet."

"I am," Elrohir produced a kinder smile and set a hand on his brother's shoulder. "May you know joy and peace in this union. I welcome your mate as my brother." He spoke the traditional words drily with only a faint qualm at the bright light that lit up Elladan's eyes to hear them, and wished he could truly mean it. A groan drew their notice to the floor where Arador was struggling to find his legs, tunic red with the bloody flow from his injured mouth. "We'd better carry him along to the House of Healing and see if that tooth can yet be saved."

"Aye, I was heading there anyway," Elladan reached down and pulled the man upright, pleased to feel him flinch. They led him away across the silent grounds and he used the time to explain as much as he knew about Legolas' sudden and unexpected arrival at precisely the time he needed him most. 


	5. Chapter 5

Acceptance _TA 2710, Imladris_

Father and son both startled, poised there upon either side of the threshold, surprised by the encounter here, now, and stood dumbly staring into each other's astonished grey eyes, hearts and souls alike awash in similar sensations of formless dread. It would not stay hid but bled from the inner chambers of the heart to be revealed in and recognised by those pairs of discerning eyes. Each became conscious of an eery feeling that the meeting was ill-ordained and wariness clouded features pulled taut under the strain of an indistinct and distant woe. Elrond recovered first, drew a short, sharp breath into his lungs and brought with it disappointment to join his fears, gaze sweeping his son from head to toe and back in blatant disapprobation.

"Elladan! Finally," he barked, scowling. "Thank Elbereth Faelon…" The thought died, snuffed out by the swift out-rush of air as he gasped and stood gaping, lips parted and brows arched high. "Elladan!" he exclaimed, voice shaking, and he reached for his son, broke into a tremendous smile as he laughed and pulled him near in a warm embrace. "Elladan!"

"Adar?" Elladan returned the clasp readily, understanding what it meant, smiling in happiness. "Aye, Ada, it is true," he said quietly and stood back the more to enjoy this rare example of complete approval and unhindered love from his father. They could only share their bright smiles, speechless as Elrond peered in wonder at his child, healed at last and at last at peace, the new bond a brilliant light that revealed his heart plainly, and Elladan suddenly blushed under the intense scrutiny, dropped his gaze. "You must have met him."

"I have," Elrond averred and that was enough to remind him of the dire situation; he sobered at once. "Where have you been?" he demanded, voice pitched low and brimming with reproof anew. He glanced covertly over his shoulder, hand raised to forestall whatever reply his son meant to utter, and quickly shut the door, pushing Elladan down the corridor in front of him. "What were you thinking, ionen?"

"I don't know what you mean," Elladan dissembled, embarrassed to have his father take him to task over his private life thus, thinking Legolas must have sent for aid on his own for the discomfort. It must have been rather disturbing to Legolas for Elrond himself to arrive and tend the minor soreness, and the absurdity of this scenario was not lost on Elladan, though he was too disconcerted by the abrupt change in mood to arrive at a more likely, and more alarming, cause for his father's presence. "I have not been anywhere; that is, I went to the infirmary and have been gone but an hour, no more."

"An hour! You might as well have been gone an Age," Elrond admonished darkly, shaking his head as he tugged Elladan along.

Elladan balked at this handling and refused to budge another step, more than a little disturbed to find Elrond exiting his rooms considering the manner in which he'd left Legolas. The implications presented themselves in all their alarming magnitude and fear gripped him. "What has happened?" Without waiting he made to push past Elrond, but found his arm detained in a crushing grip and he could not proceed.

"Nay, Elladan, you are not going back in there until we speak, but not here in the hall," hissed Elrond. "Keep your voice down; I do not want him troubled by our speech."

"I am not going anywhere," Elladan whispered back harshly, "until I have seen for myself he is all right." Again he made to pull away and again he was detained.

"He is not all right; nothing resembling that commonplace term describes the state in which you left him," Elrond complained and glared, brows drawn down in wrath as he dragged his eldest hastily down the corridor and shoved him rudely into the Twins' library. The large compartment provided both a buffer and a connection between the brothers' separate apartments, a space they used as a study and a private conference room where they planned out the campaigns for the fulfilment of their grim vow of vengeance. Once inside with the door firmly closed, Elrond stood back, hands propped atop his hips, and gave his son another scathing inspection. "You of all people should have known better."

"What do you mean? Speak plainly; what has happened to Legolas?" Anxiety escalated toward panic, though reason assured the Wood Elf had been resting easily when he'd left him.

"You bound your soul to him," Elrond spoke the words in tranquil resignation, recalling the vision and realising this had all been initiated long ago. "That day in Greenwood, you bound your soul to him then," he repeated from the depths of anguished despair, so weary of the ill-fate that dogged his House that he envied Elros keenly in that moment. As he had earlier, he lowered his body to a chair, hands momentarily shielding his eyes from sight, and then peered up into his son's anxious face, a sigh escaping. He could no more avert the coming storm than extinguish the sun. "Had I been there to counsel you, perhaps something could have been done to prevent this, but it is much too late now."

"Too late? Valar, what are you saying?" Elladan grabbed him at the arms and hauled him upright, shook him roughly. "Speak! What has happened here? Ai, Legolas!" He thrust his father back into the seat and rushed for the doorway, calling out in fear and panic, heart racing and mind reeling. "Legolas?" Just as he reached it the barrier swung open to reveal his mate on the opposite side.

"Ai, do not fear, Beloved; I am all right," the Wood Elf spoke, surprised at the commotion, then smiling over the relief on Elladan's face as he was swept into a tight embrace and held close. "All is well now that you are here," he whispered into the ebony hair flowing round his face, returning the embrace with joy.

"Ai, the thoughts in my head just now! I imagined…"

"Nay! Do not voice such things, Elladan, when nothing is wrong. All is well," Legolas interrupted quickly, believing that to announce such fears made them take on the substance of reality.

"Nay, pen neth, you are certainly not well," Elrond cautioned, coming to take Legolas from his son's arms and guide him to a chair. A quick check of the archer's vital signs initiated a satisfied grunt. "Better, but your temperature is still low; do you feel any pain?"

"Aye, Hiren, I ache everywhere as though I've had a fall from the heights of the canopy," complained Legolas and then felt heat suffuse his face, not liking to mention the other sort of discomfort afflicting him.

"That is from the power of Vilya; it will fade in time." Elrond rightly guessed but ignored the unspoken complaint, so to put him at his ease, and offered a kindly smile.

"Vilya? You had to use the ring on Legolas? But what has happened?" Elladan demanded again and joined them, much consoled to see his mate conscious and ambulatory. He sat on the arm of the chair where Legolas reposed, eyes flickering between him and his father. He noted the archer's wet hair and the loose sleeping garb he wore, but mostly detected such a deep sense of exhaustion that it frightened him.

"I am only weary," Legolas tried to calm him, but again Elrond contradicted his good intentions.

"There is no point in pretence, pen neth; he needs to know the truth."

"I am not sure I know it myself," admitted Legolas.

"Speak, Ada," pleaded Elladan. "I swear to you I left him resting quietly and have hardly been gone an hour."

"And again I say to you, ionen, that resting is not the term to use," the noble healer sighed and stood over them, arms folded before his heart as he gave his son another thorough scrutiny. "You must sense it, Elladan. Do you not realise why your soul-weary torment has ended?"

"Yes, it was the sealing of our bond," Elladan said, questioning eyes locked on Legolas as his hands collected the Wood Elf's and carried them to his lips; he kissed them gratefully, fervently. "It was your doing, Melethen, was it not? You said you would heal me with your light."

"Aye," Legolas smiled.

"A noble and honourable task, pen neth, but foolish in the extreme," chided Elrond softly and shook his head at them both. "You have suffered grieving sickness for long years and had nothing to spare, needing every spark of light your soul possesses to simply remain vital."

"Ai! That is a serious assessment, Adar," Elladan clutched the fingers in his grasp tighter and scanned the care-worn visage of his newly bound mate in dismay. "I did not mean you to endanger yourself, Melethen."

"Yes, it is quite serious, though I am much encouraged by the mutual nature of this bond," Elrond continued.

"Of course it is mutual," Elladan rejoined, irritated, and flashed him a belligerent glare. "It has been mutual since that day in Greenwood. Did you imagine I would allow him to give over his heart and soul and not do the same?"

"I was not certain," Elrond admitted, glancing at Legolas to judge how this all might be received. It was unlikely there had been sufficient time for Elladan to divulge his past exploits and numerous partners, even if he so intended.

"You do me an injustice, Adar," Elladan told him, but likewise stole a look into his beloved's confused eyes and sighed.

"What is the source of this doubt?" Legolas asked, perceiving Elladan's uneasiness and Elrond's uncomfortable air. It had occurred to him often during his growing years that there might be opposition to his joining with Elladan, but the elven Lord's earlier display of angry panic leant a different angle to the notion. Yet, he was as sure of Elladan as he was of himself.

"It is not a doubt any longer." Presenting a somewhat sheepish smile, Elladan raised Legolas and took the chair himself, settling the Wood Elf snugly onto his lap, and attempted a partial explanation. "I have not been… that is to say, there have been others…many others…" and discovered how horrible it was to admit this, especially under the silent scrutiny of his father's disapproving eye. Even as he paused, realisation overtook Legolas, an expression of confused surprise and chagrined sadness, a sudden flush suffusing his cheeks, but after a quiet moment he forced a laugh and hugged Elladan.

"Elbereth, what can it matter now? I didn't suppose you remained celibate all these years," he said, but honestly he hadn't really imagined anything else, his own needs so fully focused on Elladan and only Elladan. Even so, he could not justify feeling angry or disappointed, for the bond between them was but newly enjoined. To be here, to be with him now and forever more was enough. "It was not the same for you as for me; you came to majority nearly an Age before I was even conceived." This truth was not very comforting and could not entirely banish his insecurity. Had not Elrond warned him sternly and attempted to hasten him away from Elladan? Quickly he buried these fears behind a smile so genuine in appearance neither his mate nor his law-father suspected it was utterly false.

"That is a most forgiving attitude and I commend you for it," remarked Elrond, pleased with such a mature reply from so young an ellon. He smiled at the sylvan archer and noted the improvement in his appearance in the few minutes Elladan had returned to him. "I perceive this union is truly ordained by the Valar, for already you are recovering."

"Aye, Hiren, even as I told you: all I need is Elladan." Legolas agreed, eager to convince them, and grinned at his mate's anxious expression. "Do not fret; I will not merely recover, but become stronger than before."

"I had no idea you were going to do this immediately, tonight," Elladan explained, guilty over his failure to comprehend what was happening. He studied the cobalt eyes, distressed by the depth of Legolas' depletion and not fooled at all by the pat reassurances the Wood Elf expressed. "You were not in a fit state to undertake such a burden for my sake," he scolded gently, "though I am grateful and filled with love for your desire to help me."

"I was not consciously emptying my soul, Beloved," Legolas protested, "but I cannot regret it."

"Indeed, it must have been completely spontaneous, else you would not have let yourself go so far," Elrond agreed. "Healing in this manner is quite a rare gift and no doubt no one ever suspected you possessed it. Such things are subtle to detect and require either an early display of it or another trained in the art to perceive it. I suspect," Elrond mused as though thinking to himself, "that you received your education in this technique from my son, who must have given over to you a fair portion of his own light all those years ago. That is what initiated the bond between you and explains a great deal."

No wonder Elladan had been so needy, so demanding in his appetites; Elrond gave pause to consider the impact this consumption of others' light had produced upon the vale over time, the affect subtle but cumulative. _For this cause he's had trouble securing a willing partner at times, yet none would venture to speak to me against him._ Elrond wondered at his own blindness and discovered denial was an easy habit to perpetuate in oneself. He considered if there might not be some among his citizens who were in need of care for the loss of light suffered during their affairs with Elladan. One in particular came to mind.

"I did feel potent healing energy in the glen that day," Elladan recalled.

"I have always known it," announced Legolas, nodding to affirm the Elven Lord's words. "Elladan called Tawar (the Spirit of the Forest) to the clearing and commanded it to cure me. I remember hearing your voice clearly."

"Nay, I have no memory of that," Elladan was incredulous. "Truly?"

"Aye, truly." Legolas smiled and kissed him softly, sighing and settling his head atop his mate's shoulder.

"This being the case, you should be able to renew Legolas even as he has done for you, Elladan," Elrond opined, much relieved and rather intrigued by the tale. "I admit to surprise in hearing of this. Even I have not detected so selfless a gift for healing in you, ionen, and instead find you prone more to take than to give."

"Indeed? That is not a very complimentary remark," Elladan frowned, but Legolas was laughing.

"Truth seldom is," he said, "but I prefer the truth. Do not fret; I love you anyway and believe your uncharacteristic generosity is for me alone. You would not give your light to any other."

"Excepting blood kin, he is probably correct. It is against every being's instinct for preservation, even mine, to donate the vital light of one's soul. The energy I use for healing is generally not my own, but derived through Vilya." Elrond amended his earlier statement, finding he regretted the coldness inherent in those words, but his son was not appeased and glowered in gloomy umbrage. The learned healer could not deny the validity of his judgement of Elladan's character, which he knew to be accurate, and a fleeting thought surfaced, hinting that perhaps it was Legolas who had taken too much all those years ago, unbidden and instinctive though his action may have been. He did not harbour this theory long; nothing could be done about it now at any rate.

"Well, I don't know what to say to this," Elladan complained, but Legolas wriggled in his lap and he was reminded what benefits his investment had yielded up. He smiled brightly. "Ai, Elbereth, to have you here!" he whispered, nuzzling the fair golden mane. "To have you here. I never dreamed this could be, or rather, a dream I thought it would ever remain."

"I am here, Beloved, flesh and blood and spirit and mind, all yours for all time," Legolas murmured, "even as you are mine."

"May you find abundant joy in this union," Elrond announced placidly and could not suppress his smile as Legolas shivered out a sigh, face buried against Elladan's neck. "I will leave you and trust to the bond to work its own healing for Legolas as it has you, Elladan. Yet, we need to speak together privately, ionen, about these and other matters. Tomorrow will do, but let us not put it off beyond that. Bring Legolas to my study after the evening meal that I may assure myself of his recovery."

"Aye, Adar," Elladan answered, already bearing Legolas away back to his rooms.

With that Elrond gave them their privacy, much relieved over Legolas' health, and determined that he could still alter the outcome of the vision if not the vision itself. He would need to convince Elladan to give up the vow and concentrate instead on his new mate, but that was surely not an impossible task. A frown creased his brow. _Elrohir will oppose it. _ He halted mid stride at the top of the landing, having given no thought before to his younger son's response to the new situation. He would not take lightly being supplanted in Elladan's heart by another. He was caught pondering this by his kinsman, Erestor bounding up the stairs toward him.

"Elrond, what is amiss? I have heard the most fantastic tale from Faelon." The seneschal paused on the staircase, spying his cousin deep in thought and at once attributing it to trouble. "Is Elladan all right?"

"Elladan is completely restored to health and vitality. It is his chosen mate whom I was called to attend." Now he waited, expecting an outburst of displeasure verging on disgusted outrage. He was not disappointed.

"Mate? Do not tell me he has united his soul to this Wood Elf; you cannot believe it true."

"There is no purpose in denying what my own eyes have beheld; they are bound soul to soul." Elrond offered a sardonic grin at the inarticulate snort of disdain that issued from his kinsman, complete with that sneering scowl that so intimidated the majority of people with whom the advisor came in contact. "What ails you, Erestor? Can you feel no happiness in your heart? Do you have cause to disparage my son's choice for his mate? If so, pray keep it to yourself unless it is something other than your persistent and unreasonable dislike of the Wood Elves in general and King Thranduil in particular."

"Elrond, there is nothing unreasonable about my assessment of the sylvan elves of Mirkwood," Erestor huffed. "Stubborn, intractable, ignorant, and…"

"Valorous to the point of sacrificing a third of their people for a cause we all thought noble, once." Elrond broke into the blossoming rant.

"I will not argue with you, knowing we can never find common ground on this issue." Erestor sighed, but he could not let it go. "That is Thranduil's child, the one Elladan kidnapped. How can you so willingly accept this union? Elladan will tire of him as quickly as he has every other lover he has taken during his dark times. Then what of the Wood Elf? What of Thranduil and Greenwood? I think we will discover vast, new regions of meaning for the concept of ill-fate."

"Nay, do not speak so, calling doom upon my son!" His words smote Elrond's heart, considering the premonition he'd received, hearing it sealed by his kinsman's impeachment, unfolding and bringing with it the ruin of them all. "Elladan loves him; it is not the same as his previous entanglements, and I accept it because it is complete and cannot be undone without grievous harm to both. In truth, it was enjoined years ago and only lacked the physical consummation to cement the bond for all time."

"I did not mean to anger you," Erestor watched at his cousin closely. "Despite your generous words, this union troubles you."

"I do not deny there may be difficulties for them ahead," he hedged, unwilling to strengthen this fate by speaking of it, "but they are not of the nature you imagine. If Elladan's constancy is all we for which we need to worry, I think they could resolve it themselves, for Legolas would easily win Elladan's love utterly had he not done so years ago. I tell you Elladan is utterly besotted with this ellon and Legolas is equally smitten."

"Unlikely. As to Legolas, I know nothing, but I know Elladan better than you suppose and view him free of the distortion to which a doting father's perception is prone. He loves his freedom too well to love anything or anyone more, save his twin and his naneth."

"My opinion of my children is not confused by my love for them," Elrond contradicted this notion as he resumed movement and joined his kinsman on the stairs, both descending with the intent to adjourn to the Lord's study. "I know Elladan's flaws, but in this case the cause of his lechery may be the amount of faer-lim (soul-light) he relinquished long ago to salvage Legolas' life. He has been trying to replenish himself for centuries, successfully if temporarily, at the expense of his numerous partners."

"An interesting theory, for which I assume you have evidence," Erestor was not convinced. "What does the Woodland prince make of this?"

"He has known nothing of Elladan's life and habits; how could he? He accepts that his mate has not been chaste during their separation." Erestor issued another of his expressive snorts and Elrond trained an indulgent smile upon his kinsman. "You have not met Legolas. Once you do, no explanation will be required and you will recognise at once he is the perfect counterpart to our benighted warrior prince. Ah! Benighted no longer, Erestor; Legolas has healed him fully, completely!"

Erestor favoured him with a sceptical expression, but Elrond found suddenly that he was nearly exuberant, considering the news he was so eager to relate, and with a glad heart ushered his cousin into the deserted study where the long forgotten book still rested upon the seat of his favourite chair by the fireside. He crossed to the cupboard where he kept wine and spirits, pouring out two goblets of a prized ruby vintage, and handed one to his seneschal.

"We will drink to their health and happiness, Erestor, but mostly we will honour Legolas, who has brought hope back into this house." Before Erestor's dauntingly down-drawn brows proved the antecedent to some acid remark, Elrond raised a hand to silence it. "Hear me first! Elladan has chosen. He remains with us and surely his brother will choose the same rather than abandon him. For this alone I would love the young son of Thranduil, yet there are other qualities worthy of merit within him."

"Indeed?" Erestor's features transformed in surprise, for he had not imagined any of this. "In that case, I am glad for Legolas' inclusion in the family. To Legolas Thranduilion!" he announced solemnly, staggered that he should be pronouncing such a toast, and drank with his kinsman. 

The grey veil descended, heavy, suffocating, divisive and isolating, deadening sounds vital to survival here in the deeps of the forest where the tainted trees were greatest in number and wholesome wood confined to solitary, besieged eyots of green within the wet, grey gloom. Two Wood Elves drenched and dripping clung to the topmost boughs of two of these remnant allies, a narrow inroad of shadow-blighted timber between them. Below, a large party of Orcs milled in muttering complaint, a distinct note of victorious anticipation in their unquiet and unholy speech. They were waiting for their masters, satisfied their prey was well trapped and all but in their hands. They could afford to be patient, though such was unnatural to their crude minds. From time to time one or another would come near and climb half-way up one of the trees to harry the captured elves, hoping to elicit some reaction of fear. They were never successful and this insouciance served only to anger the throng into a momentary frenzy of cursing and roaring of Black Speech and low, animal noises.

The rain beat down upon the doomed pair, a drowning torrent whose weighty drops fell so fast one upon the other as to be continuous chains, endless lengths of fluid producing a pounding percussion of blurred cacophony, pummelling the foliage and the bark of the beeches in relentless, unceasing clamour. It was Annan Ross, the season of Long Rain in the Woodland Realm, and the lack of sunlight, however muted and diffuse the leafy verdure rendered it during other seasons, made this the preferred season for the Wraiths to go hunting. They hunted souls, spirit-light to nourish their strange existence, poised betwixt decay and vitality.

A single elvish fëa could sustain them long centuries, far beyond the number afforded them when they were merely men. If no sylvan soul could be found, a human's would do, though such rendered up only a few years of life. Of course, the purest and strongest spirits were reserved for the Necromancer, and all his minions knew better than to break this tenet of the Tower. Thus, the Orcs waited under the pouring deluge in anxious excitement, for to them would go the leavings, the physical essence of the First-born which nourished them in a profoundly baser way.

Across the bleak interval of diseased trees, the Wood Elves held one another's eyes, unwilling to look away for surely these were the last moments of life to be savoured, and they would not spend them in dread, terror, and useless regrets. They would spin them out into an eternity of seconds, endless little slices of infinity just for them to share, alone, removed from all they loved and cherished now save the set of eyes peering through the clammy liquid shroud; eyes in which shone the brilliance of the Flame Imperishable, impervious to this monsoon, this death, this utter subversion of all that made them First-born.

No words were required for this communion; no words could ever express its depth of meaning, its range of emotion. Paramount in each heart rang the question, the desperate desire to discover a way to evade this end, a key to unlock them from this fate and set their spirits free before the Necromancer arrived. There had to be a way; it was unthinkable that Eru would permit such an evil perversion of his beloved Children without so much as a glimmer of hope for escape. They need only open their minds and seek; the answer would come.

How they longed for the comfort of touch, the clasp of hands, the embrace of consoling arms! Fingers and all four limbs were fully employed in holding to the spindly, water-logged branches. Any loosening meant a fall into that crowd of grotesque representatives of Melkor's malice. Then this brief stretch of eternal peace would be gone, replaced with tortures too vile to permit into the mind.

_Might that be the way?_

Perhaps, yet…

Some atrocities cannot be borne and the fëa must disengage from the abused flesh housing it, flee away to Mandos unseen, Free!

Nay, if this fails then only untold suffering is the payment for such folly, and then the rending Darkness of un-being forever, our vital fire stolen to fuel the Enemy.

It is a chance, and I will take it whether you will or no.

Do not! Do not, I beg! Stay here with me!

I cannot stay, but mayhap my going will give you the chance to flee. If so, take it!

Nay! I cannot leave you here among them!

If an opportunity opens and you refuse to fly, you rob me of victory and I will never forgive you. I will become your nemesis and fill your heart with pain forever.

No. You do not mean this.

I am going.

No!

There was nothing more to share; eternity shattered as she dived through the branches, surprising the creatures guarding the base of the tree, toppling one, killing it with its own dagger before it could regain composure, before the others were upon her. Loud was their raging fury and brutal the beating they supplied, though she defended herself ably for a few minutes. Even an Elf cannot overcome so many numbers with one long knife, her only comrade already bereft of arrows and too far way to give aid. His screams were piercing and filled with terrified horror at what transpired. He remained frozen in the treetop perch, unable to avert his sight as they stripped her, wounded her, did unspeakable things to her body, all whilst she was still in it. She was still inside, hroa refusing to relinquish its precious animus. And then she lay still finally, though she had cried out only once through it all, a plea to her son to run, a plea he could not obey.

_Nana!_

Without thought he followed her down, down into that awful place of pain and persecution and debasing debauchery, long knife in hand, death in his heart and revenge his only salvation now. He hit the ground hard and all the air left his lungs; he stared through wide eyes not into a multitude of cruel and leering orcish maws but upon a fair visage, a noble face and calm, compassionate eyes the colour of the rain, long inky tresses hanging down in dripping tendrils about him, the light of his aura bright with flares of red and gold and violet.

_You!_

The warrior, for so he was garbed and the sword in his hand proclaimed, made no answer, merely inspecting him closely, his gaze penetrating and vaguely…hungry.

"I knew you would come," Legolas murmured, uneasy but playing out the scene, for here was his saviour come to rescue him. _Too late, as always._

"Indeed? Well, truly, it is not surprising to discover me in my own home, but to find you here… That is quite unexpected."

"It is? Your home?" This did not make sense and Legolas struggled to understand. The glorious light of Elladan's faer-lim wavered and changed, sharp spikes of rich silver emanating from his heart, bearing with it the unmistakable heat of lusty attraction. _Hot with passion yet cold with…hatred? Nay!_ "What is wrong with your light?"

"My light?" A harsh laugh resounded and the image sharpened, changed, lost the blurry veneer of watery haze; the sword vanished, the arm holding it instead crossed over its counterpart before the broad chest. "Nothing is wrong with it. What are you talking about?"

"Valar!" Legolas sat up with a jolt, heart pounding and mind whirling as he gazed at his Beloved, who was not his Beloved at all. A shudder worked through him to see this doppleganger and he gathered the loose robe over him more fully, realising he had been lost in dreams and this person had been ogling his exposed nakedness for Eru alone knew how long. He drew air into his lungs and met those cool, grey eyes so like and so unlike Elladan's. "You are Elrohir."

"I am," he confirmed, head cocked to one side as he studied the person who had stolen forever his rightful place in Elladan's heart. He could understand the attraction, but not the eternal commitment. He would not mind a romp in the sheets with Legolas himself and a salacious grin spread over his features as he imagined it, eyes passing slowly over the half-clothed figure. The Wood Elf hastily gathered his garment more chastely about him and Elrohir laughed to see a quick flush of colour stain the fair cheeks. "You are Legolas."

"Aye." Legolas decided he did not like being observed in this way, vulnerable beneath that mocking, appraising stare, and stood to gain a more equal footing with his mate's twin. "I thought for a second that you were Elladan," he remarked without thinking.

"Really? I would have thought you could tell us apart, since he is supposedly your mate." Elrohir jeered, pleased with having the advantage and determined to keep it. Legolas responded to his presence and this could be developed into an interesting set of circumstances. It did not escape his notice that Legolas had let him approach unchallenged, permitting him to stand in appreciative contemplation for some minutes. Perhaps he could prove his point to Elladan beyond all doubt. "Where is my brother, by the way?"

"I do not know," Legolas wrapped his arms tight about his body and looked about the space, a small, roof-top terrace Elladan had assured him was private and visited by no one besides himself. It was furnished with several comfortable lounges for relaxing beneath the sun, as he had been doing just moments ago. His eyes drifted up to squint against the brilliant light and the cloudless sky, blue and bright; he suppressed a sigh. _Even here I am not free._ "I must have slipped into reverie; I was dreaming."

"A pleasant dream, I hope." Elrohir smiled and unfolded his arms, reached the right one forward. The motion made the sylvan shy back as though he expected an attack. "Peace! I am only welcoming you to Imladris, pen neth." He offered his open hand for the traditional clasp between warriors. Hesitantly the Wood Elf took it, another shiver racking his bones as though to touch him was a despicable act. Elrohir frowned, uncertain what this portended.

"I thank you for your welcome," Legolas lied, wishing Elladan would return from wherever he had gone. _He has left me again. Twice in the course of mere hours!_ That did not bode well for their future as mates and he shuddered as he returned Elrohir's strong swordsman's grip, noting it was the opposite hand to that which Elladan favoured. "Nay, not a pleasant dream at all," he admitted and passed a nervous hand through his tangled hair.

"That is regrettable; someone so fair should be subject only to fair dreams," Elrohir flirted and enjoyed again that faint rise in colour.

"I have not had a fair life," Legolas barked, angry to have this… impostor make light of his history. The other, more obvious cause for this remark he firmly shoved into the background of his thoughts. His mate's brother could not be teasing him for venal purposes; it had to be ignorance and a rather callous heart. He hardened his own against Elrohir.

"So I have been told," Elrohir dipped his head, duly chastened, and silence grew between them, uncomfortable, charged with misunderstanding and a heavy, feral tension. A subtle sound of of faintly clattering dish-ware claimed his notice and that of his uneasy quarry _law-brother!_. In a heartbeat Legolas was through the door and down the spiral stairs.

"Elladan?" he called as he ran, wary tones underscoring his flustered anxiety. "Where have you been?" he demanded, relieved to see the familiar light of gold, vermilion, and violet surrounding his mate, pulsing with gentle love, but angry to have been subjected twice to such importune meetings with his Beloved's kin.

"I but went to secure something to eat," Elladan reassured, coming to take the Wood Elf in his arms, sensing his tension and immediately feeling guilty for causing it. He buried his nose in the golden mane and breathed in the woodland scent he had so quickly come to associate with both desire and contentment. "I am sorry I…"

"Muindor, here you are," Elrohir leaped from the stairs and met his brother's astonished gaze over Legolas' shoulder, his expression a strange combination of smug delight and dark menace. _Why should he have you instead of me?_ This thought he shielded from Elladan's mind.

"Elrohir!" Elladan stood back and peered down into Legolas' perturbed face. "No wonder you are displeased; it must have been a shock to see him come through the door. Forgive me?"

"Aye, though shock is too mild a term to use. I came awake to find him standing over me staring in a most unsettling manner, and I thought at first it was you."

"Ai! You were dreaming again."

"I was."

"Please forgive me; I should not have left you alone."

"Nay, you should not. I need you near me until my light is restored; did not your Adar confirm it?"

"He did; you are right to be angry."

"What is all this about light?" Elrohir interrupted, displeased with the easy way they confided one to another, his presence all but forgotten. Indeed, it was the truth for both startled and turned to him abruptly, sheepish expressions overtaking their faces. Elladan's quickly changed to one of restrained anger.

"Muindor, I will explain later, but if you do not mind we would like a time alone," he announced firmly, eyes overcast with the promise to settle with Elrohir for disturbing his mate so severely. He detected an unmistakable element of arousal from his brother, and if he could sense it so could Legolas. The idea brought a glaring surge of hot jealousy with it.

"Of course," Elrohir smiled, acknowledging Elladan's challenge silently, well pleased with the outcome of his impromptu decision to confront the interloper. "Legolas, it is a pleasure to welcome you to our family, pen neth." He bowed formally and strode past them to the exit, gloating over a third advance of crimson to the Wood Elf's ears.

"Valar!" Legolas exclaimed, disengaging from Elladan and drifting to the table where a tray reposed, the scent of fresh blueberries reminding him of his empty belly. "He is rather disconcerting and does not like me much, I fear." He popped a handful of the fruit into his mouth, eyed his mate and found Elladan troubled and wary.

"I do not think that's the right word, Legolas. My fear is that he finds you just as appealing as I do," Elladan decided it was best to confront the issue head on. He needed to hear Legolas' affirmation that no other could replace him, especially his twin.

"No, he does not like me at all, no matter if he finds me attractive," Legolas insisted, evaluating Elladan's anxious eyes carefully. The comely visage abruptly turned from him in hopes to hide a spreading stain of guilty shame within the grey depths, but Legolas caught it and felt a chill surround his heart. He had expected the heat and anger of jealousy, not the uncomfortable pall of disgrace. "Elladan?"

"He will try to take you from me," Elladan mumbled darkly, "and I will not allow it."

"I should hope not," Legolas snorted, but his bravado was false and the strange mood that enveloped his mate infected him with its weighty gloom. "I am yours; you claimed me from death. Nay, it is more than that, Elladan; you stole me from the Necromancer. There is no other who can hold my heart."

"You don't understand," Elladan faced him, seeing that this was all too true. Legolas was barely past majority. Had he ever experienced the raw need for base, physical release? Elrond had counselled his sons that such was a trait bequeathed through their mortal ancestry, little understood by those of purer bloodlines. Consumed by grief, held to life by Elladan's light, any hungers Legolas might have felt would be bound up in the face and form of his saviour. _My face and form; Elrohir's face and form._ Desperate to make him understand, fearful to endure the disgust that must accompany such enlightenment, Elladan spoke dire words that fell short of the explanation he would give. "He will not abide this; he will see to it that our bond is broken."

"Impossible!" Legolas was incredulous and stared, hands on hips, as Elladan stalked the room in tense distraction. The expression on his mate's face forced him to consider if such a design was truly unachievable, his obvious dread of it a terrible blow. _He does not think my commitment is genuine._ Legolas had to sit down. "You doubt me."

"Nay, I do not," yet even Elladan must acknowledge the half-lie in his voice and grimaced in frustration, shrugging as though some unpleasant substance draped him too closely in its noisome folds. "Yet I am older and know more of such things than you, Legolas."

"Ah, so I am too young; the complaint of my Adar falls from your lips now," he nodded and offered this bitterly acerbic rejoinder. "No, let me tell you what this is about, Elladan: you have been inconstant and it troubles your heart; shame for it fills your eyes." He stood again, pointing in accusation, his tone cold and remorseless.

"Nay, that is not so," Elladan raised his voice accordingly, cheeks flushed dark. "You speak as though I have betrayed our bond and this is not true."

"Isn't it? You admitted there have been many others."

"And you said I was not to be blamed!"

"I am not the one raising doubts! I am not the one whose actions have tainted our union!" Both were shouting now.

"We were not mates until last night, Legolas, and so anyone with whom I may have shared my time was not significant…" Elladan's countenance went white upon discovering he could not utter this untruth. He swallowed, seeing Legolas observe this, and turned away abruptly, slashing his hand through the air as though to annihilate the unsavoury thoughts running between them. "That cannot count as infidelity."

"We have been bound to one another since that day in Greenwood," Angry and hurt, Legolas followed and put himself in the way until he was nose to nose with Elladan, and then suddenly realisation flooded his mind. Stunned, he backed up a pace, lips ajar, shaking his head in denial, and when he spoke again his voice had lost all the force of wrath. "No. Valar. I have been bound to you, but not the other way round. I had nothing to give that would hold you, while readily I absorbed your light and kept it in me. Otherwise…" He shivered.

"Let us not think on that," Elladan pleaded, calmer, and set a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Yes, it was my doing; I claimed you then and have always considered you mine. So much so that I stayed away from Elrohir in order to prevent him knowing. Even then, though you were but a child, because you were but a child, his every thought would be to break the bond we share."

"Why would he do this?" Legolas demanded, but Elladan remained quiet. "All these years, I believed you stayed nearby in hopes to come and free me from Thranduil's authority, to take me away with you home, here."

"That is so, but also I had no wish to share what I found in you with Elrohir. He and I are close, Legolas, in ways you cannot understand."

"Because you are twins?" Something about this was very unsettling and Legolas' heart cramped with uneasy dread. The beliefs that had framed the reality of his life were crumbling into fragments, little more than the frail fantasies of childhood.

"Aye, because we are twins, because we are brothers, because we share more than the usual link between siblings," Elladan explained in miserable despair and chanced a quick scrutiny of Legolas' eyes; they were filling with sorrow.

"More than brothers, more than siblings, identical twins," Legolas droned, trying to reason it out, why all this would cause Elrohir to do him harm. "Together always, sharing everything: thoughts and feelings and…" His heart gave a sudden lurch as the truth leaped into his mind and he exhaled a horrified gasp. "Oh! He is my rival!"

"What say you?" Elladan's face suffused with embarrassed mortification. "He is certainly not!" he denied and turned away.

"Yes, or rather I am now his rival, as he sees it," Legolas nodded as he considered what this meant and a shudder of revulsion ran over his frame. "Elbereth, you have lain with him as you did with me." He felt ill and had to sit down, pushed Elladan away as he came near to aid him. "Nay! Touch me not!" Legolas' heart sank; not only had there been many other lovers in his mate's life, but one tied to him in a bond nearly as strong as theirs, perhaps stronger in some respects.

"Legolas, it is not as you imagine," Elladan explained. "It has not been like that since our Nana… We have not been together like that for long centuries of time."

"You should have explained before…" Legolas could not finish the sentence. Bitter rage ignited and he rose, walked away and back in frustrated misery.

"I never wanted you to learn of it." Elladan watched the fury peeling off the Wood Elf in long simmering tendrils of fiery gold and swallowed. "It is over between us, that aspect of our relationship. He and I have not shared in the ways of mated couples for many centuries." The look Legolas flashed him was filled with incredulous dismay and a hollow laugh accompanied it.

"Does abstinence undo a bond between souls?" Legolas countered sharply. "That is ludicrous." He paced the floor, angry and humiliated. How was he to reconcile this situation? All these long years of waiting and Elladan had been soul-bound centuries before Legolas even knew of his existence. In light of this, their newly forged bond seemed trifling, inconsequential.

"I understand your anger, but I never mean to rejuvenate the physical bond with Elrohir. We share the fraternal bond of brothers now, as we should," Elladan insisted, hearing how insubstantial his words sounded, and sighed sadly. "I had never any desire to hurt you."

"Then you should have spoken of this before I gave myself over to you, body and soul," Legolas snapped.

"Aye."

Legolas peered at Elladan, irritated to see the proud warrior hapless and helpless in the shame of this ugly revelation. He could not but doubt his internal sense of history; perhaps he had really made more of his link to Elladan than truly there was. _Perhaps Adar was right all along._ If so, he had made an error of terrible proportions that could not now be eradicated this side of the sundering sea._And I cannot sail, leaving her unavenged._ Such was unacceptable and even now his entire being ached for Elladan, yearning for union. _But is that solely because I gave over most of my light? I am sure of him, am I not? As sure as I am of my own heart, and that is his alone._

Yet the memory of Elrohir's flagrant appreciation lingered in his body and a thrill ran over him. Alarmed, Legolas fought the sudden heat and stormed into the bedchamber where the evidence of their consummation scented the air richly. He inhaled it and calmed. Elladan broke from the illicit relations, he reasoned; it was Elrohir of whom he need be wary. He immediately seized upon these thoughts, replacing his fears with anger at Thranduil for keeping them apart so long when clearly Elladan had needed him as much as he had needed Elladan. _If not more._ He returned his sight to the guilt stricken ellon who had followed him and determined he would fight to keep their bond vital.

"I have known sorrow worse than this, though I never imagined you would cause me so much as a moment of heartache, Elladan," he said quietly, arms locked over his chest, and registered his mate's groan with little sympathy. "Yet I've no right to hold this against you, for it was long before my life began. You are right, of the bond between twins I am wholly ignorant. The deception, though…" he broke off again, pacing to and fro once more, aura crackling with rage. Gradually he reined it in, for he had decided and would not gainsay his chosen course. "Nay, even that I will not hold against you. I forgive your deception."

"You do?" Elladan found this did not stir him to joy as he'd imagined the declaration would, for Legolas' manner was distant and haughty, the acquittal all of words and none of feeling. "I am glad," but he sounded sad and uneasy instead.

"Yes, as am I," Legolas nodded briskly, unable to bring forth a smile, and looked away.

Silence surrounded them, cold and cloying like a winter mist over a stagnant marsh, neither able to move forward to reconciliation.

"Tawar nín beria," muttered the Wood Elf with another deep sigh, dissatisfied with the outcome. What good would it do to repeat his complaints? Had he not decided to forgive? _Aye, but he has done nothing in the way of reparation._

"I also neglected to mention," Elladan said apologetically, contrite gaze searching his mate's' cold, closed countenance, "we have always shared everything." His eyes grew large at the horrified expression that crossed Legolas' face. "Not lovers!" he blurted hurriedly, "and certainly never my mate, Legolas. Never. I meant these rooms, the apartment and the terrace. You must believe me!" He was on his knees now, terrified that he would lose this pure spirit he had cherished so long and only just claimed for his own.

"Yes, I believe you," Legolas frowned, sighing, and then shrugged, a false gesture of unconcern, devastated but unwilling to relinquish Elladan to his brother uncontested. _He is mine as much as he is Elrohir's._ They were strong thoughts meant to console him, but failed."We will have to move out of this house."

"What?"

"Move out of this apartment, build our own house. I want some distance between us and him, Elladan. He has free access to this place you said was yours alone." Everything in Elladan's posture revealed Elrohir had never before been barred from his presence. "Sharing this one will not suffice now that I understand Elrohir's claim upon you."

"He does not have a claim on me," Elladan insisted, disconsolate for Legolas still did not understand him. "I have hurt him, Legolas, deeply, precisely because he no longer has a claim. You are living evidence of that truth, and he will try to destroy what I have with you." He paused and searched the ellon's eyes, seeing the confusion there, fear and desire and love all warring within them, and smiled gently, sadly. "We are twins, identical in appearance. You cannot help but be drawn to him as you are to me."

Startled by this insulting indictment of his morals, containing as it did an element of truth Legolas could not yet encompass, he exhaled a sharp breath and stomped from the room. "All this perversion revealed and yet somehow I am the guilty one," he hissed. "What is to be done?" he mourned. "You concede the battle to Elrohir without the least effort to prevail and blame me for the failure." He heard Elladan enter the room but refused to look upon him, running up the stairs to the rooftop terrace. He stood at the very edge of the platform and gazed upon the lovely valley and its elegant city, thinking it was all a cheap façade to hide a variety of corruption more foul because of its purported purity. _I have come to a dark fate._ Yet such was his lot anyway and at least he was alive, at least he could fulfil the promise he'd made. He would need Elladan to achieve that goal.

"I do not mean to insult you," Elladan offered quietly. "No more do I surrender to him that which I love beyond all comprehension. I meant only to be honest, to reveal the fulness of the life into which I have drawn you. It will not be easy, Legolas. You must trust me; I know that I can make you happy here."

"Happy!" Legolas snorted and turned to him with a sneering scowl. "You truly understand nothing, Elladan. What happiness can there be for me after what I have seen?" He waved away the objections about to be announced and moved beyond the range of reaching arms. "It matters not. I am here; we are mates; all else will follow in its own time."

"What do you mean?" Elladan did not like the darkness underlying this dramatic proclamation and again sought to envelop Legolas in protective arms, regretting he had said anything at all. Again he was shunned.

"Who else knows about this?" Legolas ignored the query and evaded Elladan's grasp, thinking back to Elrond's adverse reaction to his presence, a sour scowl marring his features. If the elven Lord understood and preferred his sons' mutual bond to that of a sylvan spouse, the situation was bizarre indeed, and his standing here quite insubstantial. What else could the great Lord's desperate actions mean? Yet, Elrond had reversed himself quickly. _Mayhap he is glad of our bond, believing my coming here will restore his children to a more normal interaction._

"No one," sighed Elladan, defeated, and removed himself from Legolas' side to drop heavily into a chair. He covered his shamed face with his hands. "You must swear never to tell of it."

"Of course!" Legolas watched him, displeased with such a weak response. None of this fit his concept of Elladan. _But what do I know of him beyond the bold, bright spirit light given to me so long ago?_ Nothing, and what he might have become during the long years since their first meeting, lacking so much of his own resources to cope with the violent world in which he was immersed, was on display before him now. How easy it must have been to give in to Elrohir under such conditions, trading the intimacy of the body for vital light. _Light nearly identical to his own._ This at last broke through his angry disappointment, permitting a version of the sordid affair that he could truly forgive. "Ai, Elladan, do not be so distraught," he suddenly announced, moving to envelop the stricken warrior in his arms. "I would never reveal a secret from your heart."

"My thanks," Elladan murmured against the crown of flaxen hair, slipping his hands under the robe to feel the strength and warmth of the Wood Elf's sinewy body, proof that this was all real and he had not yet lost him. "I did not mean to disparage you, truly." Just when he thought the turmoil ending, Legolas pulled away, wrapping the fabric close about him, his face the very picture of miserable vulnerability.

"Words have a power of their own, Elladan. One ought not to say what one does not mean." Legolas stared in disbelief. He would forgive while this arrogant half-elf would pretend the insult was meaningless. How had he come to be so wrong in his thoughts, in his very heart? _And now it is too late, even as Adaren warned._

"Nay, you are right; that is not what I meant," Elladan babbled, not sure how to fix this. If he tried to make Legolas see it would only anger him more. "Forgive me, Beloved, there is no fault on your part."

"We are mates now," Legolas sighed, unhappy that such joyful words could be so filled with sorrow. "We will have to make the best of things. I am weary, Elladan. Will you call for someone to refresh the bedding? I would sleep."

He did so and cautiously laid down beside his mate, pleased when he was not spurned, and dared to gather Legolas against him. He did not attempt more, though he would mend the rift in passionate release, feeling tell-tale dampness on the cheek resting against his chest. A ragged breath further confirmed the Wood Elf's new grief and Elladan berated himself for being its source. He rubbed soothing caresses against Legolas' back and silently promised never to do anything that would give him cause for tears again.

"Do not leave me this time," Legolas warned, voice flat and bereft of all hope.

"Nay, never," Elladan promised. 

"A most promising beginning, from the sound of it." Below, in the comfort of the Elven Lord's study, Erestor gave his kinsman a wry grin and raised his glass again. "To Legolas Thranduilion, undoubtedly the perfect counterpart to Elladan, our benighted warrior prince."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Bargaining

"I cannot believe this is your opinion. Why would you oppose our hopes for a family, for children to cherish and nurture. Is this not the natural course for mated couples? Why would we not be suitable parents? I am hurt, Adar." Elladan had less than a guess but more than a glimmer as to the topic Elrond would address at this second meeting, but a prohibition against offspring was a subject he would never have imagined plausible.

"You misunderstand me," Elrond placated him. "It is not that you are unsuitable to become parents, but your life as it is does not lend itself to bringing up children." It was the lore-master's hope that the prospect of an unexpected pregnancy would help dissuade Elladan from his dangerous work, the vow that held him to it, and the notion of enlisting Legolas to join him.

"Well, yes, I see your point," Elladan scowled and rose from his chair, paced the room and stopped beside his mate, glancing covertly at Legolas to judge how he would take this. The previous day's revelations left the woodland prince withdrawn and listless; Elladan wasn't sure when or if his new mate would permit intimate relations between them. "We have not even had an opportunity to explore the idea ourselves."

"Utterly out of the question," Legolas stood tall, never having taken the seat Elrond offered him, and held himself in rigid and regal defiance, crossed arms a shield before his heart as he stared in chilly indignation at the Elven Lord. His words dispelled the rancour raised by Elladan's rant against Elrond's cautionary counsel and filled the atmosphere with edgy strain. Legolas favoured his mate with a brief, stony glare before resuming his scrutiny of the healer.

"Legolas, pregnancy need not be ruled out entirely," Elrond said, unhappy that his words had brought on this veneer of icy contempt from his law-son and an explosion of wounded outrage from his eldest child. He'd almost refrained from broaching the subject at all given the heated argument the two had enjoined the night before. While the words traded were not loud enough to be overheard specifically, they were amply loud enough to permit everyone in the house knowledge of the new couple's disagreement. Elrond was fairly certain of the topic, though what had triggered Legolas' outrage, considering his previously forgiving attitude, was a mystery. "It is simply a matter of what is healthy for you and any child you might conceive."

"Beloved, what do you mean?" Elladan demanded, his wrath instantly converted to sadness nearly on the level of despair. "Is this due to the things we discussed earlier?" He hardly dared speak the question and blanched at the expression of irritated disdain Legolas trained on him.

"Nay, Elladan. I decided this long ago. There will be no children, Lord Elrond; you need have no worries over my suitability to nurture a child into life. I have been faithfully taking the herbs you mention since reaching maturity," Legolas snapped, furious to have this personal issue delved by the Noldorin patriarch, finding it a grotesque intrusion upon his privacy and his autonomy.

"You decided?" Elladan sounded bereft and lost and reached a tentative hand toward him. "What of my wishes? Should this not be a decision we discuss together?"

"No, for I am the one who must create this potential child," Legolas growled and ignored the reaching arm, presenting a daunting image of resolute intractability. "I am a warrior and I have much to do, an important quest to fulfil. There is no place in my life for the bearing and raising of young."

"I did not mean to infer you are unsuitable to bear life," Elrond objected, but neither were paying attention to him. Elladan peered at the Wood Elf in woebegone misery. As for Legolas, the august healer didn't care for the look of him now; all the joy had gone out of him leaving only this cold and distant woodland prince.

"What quest? What are you talking about? Do you mean the vow I've sworn?"

"I know nothing of any vow you may have sworn," Legolas rejoined, aggravated. "I speak of my own vow and what must be done to free my Nana's soul from that vile Necromancer. He must be brought down and destroyed. I mean to see it done and that tower toppled to rubble and ruin. My people will not abide this evil in our homeland any longer."

That brought the Noldorin lords to speechless disbelief and they both stared at him, wondering how he could state such impossible feats so casually.

"You cannot be serious," Elrond said.

"This is madness," Elladan added.

"Is it?" Legolas barked, furious. Elladan was meant to support and aid him in this quest. "Why so? It is but a structure of brick and stone and mortar; it was built up and it can be brought down. The creature hiding in it can be challenged and defeated. Elves have never failed to defeat the servants of the Enemy when once they determine what must be done. The problem is not insurmountable if only we band together and lay such a siege to that vile fortress that its owner flees in hopes of escaping his doom. But he must not escape."

"Pen neth, you have to know that many have already tried to drive out this entity from your woods," Elrond began calmly, trying hard to refrain from panic, for here was the source of the ill-fate wrapped up in Legolas' bond with Elladan.

"Who has tried, Hiren?" Legolas demanded and moved closer to face the legendary elder directly. "And I prefer to be called by my given name, if you please."

Elrond blinked, eyes growing round as his brows rose high, gazing upon this youth who would take on Dol Guldur and drag Elladan along to partake in the catastrophe. "Of course, Legolas, your pardon," he dipped his head to acknowledge the ellon's right to be treated as an adult, then shook it the next. "Your father tried along with Celeborn and Amroth of Lothlorien, but the siege could not be advanced for the Wraiths exist within the boundary between life and death, possessing neither state fully, and cannot be defeated by violence."

"They command too many Orcs," Elladan appended. "Their numbers cannot be overcome."

"You are wrong," Legolas smiled bitterly, "both of you, all of you. There is a way and I have proved it."

"What way?" demanded Elrond sharply, alarmed.

"What have you done, Legolas?" Elladan was chilled to the soul hearing the darkness in his mate's voice. Clear blue eyes devoid of any feeling regarded him, remorseless, aloof, and so disengaged that he was cast back upon that awful day and the deranged madness that had consumed the stricken child. Then the strange expression vanished, replaced by a smirky grin that was perhaps more unnerving.

"I destroyed a Wraith," he replied with smug and gloating pride as though announcing he had caught a buck on the hunt. Another silence followed his claim and he could tell they did not believe him; so it had been at home. "It is the truth and here is the proof."

He unwrapped his arms and felt in the pocket of his tunic, withdrawing a small glittering object which he presented on his open palm. It was an ornate golden ring set with a large, black stone, an onyx, and in its very centre a second gem glinted: a small blood red ruby. Legolas smiled in triumph at the gasps of surprise that accompanied his revelation, enjoying the involuntary way the great and noble Peredhil stepped back from him.

"Valar," Elladan whispered, shuddering. "You should not be carrying that vile thing on your person, Legolas. Get rid of it."

"At once, pen neth," advised Elrond, features pale and drawn. "Here, give it to me now and I will have it melted down in the forge. That object is altogether evil; who can say what affect it may have upon you?"

"Aye, so I deem it, too," Legolas agreed even as he disobeyed, "but I knew none would accept my claims without this proof, and so I kept it. Adar refused to believe even after holding the evidence in his own hands and called me a liar to my face, before the full Council of Elders. I merely found it, he said. This is just some bauble such as the dwarven folk made of old. Some trinket dropped from a trade caravan or lost when its owner was felled in battle. So he says, but he knows what it really is, as do the folk of our kingdom. They fear me as though I myself am a Wraith, or about to become one, but it has no power over elf-kind. It was designed for men and for men alone is it enthralling. Indeed, it was made to bind the soul of a King of men, and only such a person will it claim." To demonstrate, Legolas slipped it on his thumb, for the ring was made for larger hands than his, and laughed when both the Lord and his son cried out and again stood back.

"No," Elladan breathed, heart pounding an erratic staccato of sickened dread. He had yet to even think of procuring a bonding band for Legolas, and to see this unclean ornament on his finger was an abomination, as if he had become the mate of one of the Nazgûl. He flushed in anger, grew white with rage. "Take that off at once," he commanded. "You should not have it, much less wear it." He could not endure the image of Legolas enveloped in darkness and snatched at the offended hand. To his dismay, Legolas was too quick and hid the ring behind him.

"Do not fret; it has no power over me," insisted Legolas, no longer finding their distress amusing. "What do you fear?" he asked sharply, the words couched in tones of command that brooked no dissembling.

"I do not …" Elladan's lie faltered on his lips, suddenly compelled to respond immediately and honestly against his better judgement. Beside him he heard his father exhale a startled sound, had an impression of him moving closer, but Legolas held his eyes captive. He swallowed, attempting to hold back the words, but they broke free easily and he heard himself speaking. "That you will be lost to Shadow as once you nearly were. I saved you then, but if you take it on willingly, I do not know how to combat that."

"So," Legolas nodded sadly; this was as he had suspected all along in his heart of hearts. "Even my mate turns from me in revulsion for the sake of the tortures I have known, none of which were of my choosing to endure."

"No, that is not so." Elladan insisted, reaching for his mate, but Legolas dodged his grasp.

He turned his back on them both and removed the ring, dropping it back in his pocket as he strode through the open arch onto the terrace. He paused beside the stonework banister and gazed upon the fair land, the landscape coloured in shades of cynical apathy. "What is this place?" he asked, bitter and baffled. "It is a dream, this Imladris, and while I have awakened to a grim reality of violence and death and fates worse than death, I see you still adrift within its seductive and deceiving vistas, illusions of tranquility and peace." He shrugged, an immensely affected gesture incapable of hiding the hurt it was meant to conceal. "Adar said you would reject me; I am displeased that he was correct."

"I am not rejecting you," Elladan insisted, joining him but fearful of touching him, apprehensive of his strange mood.

"Yet you will, for I must do this with or without you, even if I have to proceed alone," Legolas mourned low and despairing.

"You must not attempt this," Elrond broke in before Elladan could answer. "Legolas, Elladan will not abandon you; I implore you to consider the consequences of this fact. I am gifted with foresight, as you may have heard tales told," he went on against his better judgement, for it was a bad idea to give so dismal a vision validity by sharing it.

"So it is said," Legolas gazed at him with interest, observing the reluctance in the harried grey eyes watching him. "You have seen something of my future then," he nodded and sighed in resignation, "and it must be that which caused you to want me gone from here last night."

"Aye, Legolas; forgive me, pen neth, but you must turn from this path upon which you have travelled so far already," Elrond implored him and held forth his hand. "Ruin awaits you; turn away now. Give me that ring."

"What is he talking about?" Elladan took Legolas at the arm and squeezed, yanking hard to make him face him. "Adar tried to make you leave me?"

"I did," the distraught father admitted. "Understand, the vision had me in its grip and I was overwhelmed with the sorrow it showed me. Indeed, I was experiencing that sorrow as though it was already happening. Now I see it was not so far fetched a notion. The ring, Legolas, let me destroy it."

"It does not matter now," Legolas tugged loose of Elladan's grip and walked past Elrond onto the porch, fingered the trailing end of a green vine. "I would never go from you unless you asked it of me, or … but nay; I will never go from you," he faltered, uncomfortably revisited by his first perception of Elrohir, aloof and disdainful and hungry, and shivered.

"No more would I permit you to go," Elladan spoke fervently, "and so you shall put aside this insane quest and stay at my side here in Imladris."

"Is that so?" Legolas grinned, the expression equal parts protest and possessive pride. He crossed his arms before him again and studied the ellon he had taken for his mate, still smiling but gently now, feeling glad to be loved so well as this. Then he leaned near and kissed Elladan softly and was captured by strong arms and pressed close against the masterful physique; he could hear the rapid pounding of Elladan's troubled heart. "Nay, do not fear for me, Beloved," he whispered, nuzzling his mate's cheek tenderly. "You saved me that I might avenge her; it was the will of Eru that brought you to me. We cannot defy this destiny; no more do I wish to. I cannot continue living knowing that despicable thing has grown fat and strong on my mother's light."

"Legolas, you cannot rejuvenate your naneth's spirit even if you could defeat the Necromancer and destroy the Tower," Elrond stated.

"How can you possibly know this?" Legolas snapped and pushed Elladan out of the way to confront the mighty Lord. "You don't; admit it! We call him the Necromancer for that is the naming the humans have given the creature, but we do not know what it is. You, who have never even been to our woods, can know less than we of its nature, whether it is human or some other thing. No more do you comprehend the essence that is an elvish fëa, for such is immutable. It must be so! Are we but starlight clothed in flesh, unfeeling, incoherent energy to be recycled into any vessel that makes bold to capture us? I do not accept that; neither do you. You seek to protect your son, nothing more."

"Legolas, do not be arrogant," Elladan admonished. "Adar has much knowledge of the Shadow and its devises."

"Really?" Legolas spun to face him, his smile mocking and satiric. "I do not see that extensive intelligence being put to use to rid the world of its gravest enemy. Surely he would do so, he and his White Council, if they believed it a worthwhile venture. Nay, they are all satisfied to have the Shadow remain to trouble the Wood Elves alone, sparing those of more genteel lineage from predation too horrible for them to contemplate."

"You don't know what you're saying," Elladan contradicted him. "The White Council does not leave this burden for Mirkwood to shoulder. Such a thought is unworthy and you must retract it at once."

"Must I? I suppose you will wait long to hear that apology, Elladan, even as my people wait for aid from their kin in other realms."

"Legolas, the White Council has not abandoned the folk of the woods," Elrond broke in to the acrimonious rant. "We have determined that our strength is not sufficient and our knowledge too limited. More information is needed before an attack on Dol Guldur can be executed. We need more time."

"More time! For what, Hiren? Explain to me how allowing my enemy to become entrenched, to gather more followers among the humans, to breed legions of our foes is a wise course of action? All the while, the Wood Elves are at war, pressed to defend our lands and lives, every group that ventures from the stronghold armed and prepared for strife even if the goal is but to hunt for food to feed our families."

"Time to learn what this creature is, why it chose Greenwood, what its weaknesses are," Elrond rejoined and knew his words lacked the strength of conviction, for he had disagreed with the decision of the Council and would overthrow the tower. "If we come unprepared to defeat it, we may all be lost."

"Those are not your beliefs or your thoughts," Legolas said quietly and was relieved to see this was true. He breathed a deeper breath and exhaled some of his anger into the balmy air. "My father does not know this, thinking you spurn the woodland folk because of our defeat at the Last Alliance. You must communicate with him, Hiren."

"I have tried," Elrond sighed. "Alas, I don't even know if he read any of the letters sent, for no reply has ever been returned."

"So," Legolas paced away down the porch, fists clenched tight at his sides, anger lighting up his aura anew with vivid sparks of bloody red. "We have a traitor in Greenwood. Such I have guessed, but this is like unto proof for me. Whatever his failings, Thranduil would not ignore a missive from you, even if his answer was hostile and rude. These posts have been intercepted." He strode quickly back to face Elrond. "You must go to Greenwood and take audience with the Wood Elves' King, Hîr Elrond."

"Nay, henen, that I cannot do," Elrond mourned and set a consoling hand on the young warrior's shoulder, watched as the fiery light of hope died away in the sapphire eyes. "I have a burden that must not be removed from this place, lest Shadow learn of it and obtain it. This would be a great defeat for our people, for the Darkness has no mastery over us now, but with that single object would have means to sway us into evil and ruin. I cannot risk it. I dare not."

"Who told you these lies, I wonder," Legolas mused softly and shook his head. "How easily the wise may be fooled!"

"Legolas!" Elladan yelled, mortified and incensed, and snatched at his arm anew. "You will not mock my Adar before my very face!"

"I do not mean to do that, Elladan. Unhand me! Who gives you authority to treat with me thus? Am I some lesser being you may abuse because my opinions annoy you? Is this the reality of our union, that I have become your possession and not your equal?" Legolas countered and shoved Elladan away so hard it raised a surprised little grunt and caused him to stagger to regain balance. His mate's objections thusly condemned, Legolas turned back to Elrond, features animated with eager excitement. If he could convince the mighty Lord, others would follow. "Hiren, that article you do not name went forth into battle with GiIgalad; Sauron himself certainly knew of it and coveted it greatly. For such did he come forth from his impenetrable lair to engage us in open combat, and therefore was defeated. If this can be done to one of the Ainur, so much easier to destroy a mere Wraith attempting to elevate his place among the damned."

"Legolas," Elrond began his rebuttal but found he had no words to counter this logic, for he and Celeborn thought the same. He closed his parted lips and frowned. "Come inside; we should not be speaking so out in the open, even here in fair Imladris."

So saying he took Legolas by the forearm and drew him back into the study, leading him over to the comfortable chairs gathered before the hearth, Elladan trailing behind, so confused and downcast he had the look of a child under the rebuke of his parents. It was enough to make Elrond wonder how the conversation had turned so completely from his initial goal of counsel for the newly-bound pair. He eyed Legolas with new respect; here was a worthy rhetorician not to be discounted due to lack of years. "Your understanding of these events is admirable and, I admit it with no small shame, surprising. You deem this Necromancer one of the Nazgûl? This is the very idea Celeborn and I have traded with MIthrandir. How came you to such a thought?"

"Ah, my ignorance was assumed, I see; an attribute perennially applied to all of my people," Legolas scoffed, but with better humour and he gracefully accepted the goblet of wine Elrond offered, raising it in quick salute before he sipped. "Wood Elves: less wise, more dangerous." He laughed aloud at the chagrined expression that crossed the mighty lord's face. "Aye, we know all about it, Hiren, so do not be too dismayed. It is true in many ways. We do not have fine homes or great libraries or places of advanced study, nor do we count many among us who devote their lives to the arts. Yet this is not because we do not appreciate these things or find such pursuits unworthy. It is because we are in a constant state of war which only now has escalated to the point that others take note of it.

"For all the Ages of time since the Awakening, the Wood Elves have defied the marring wrought by Melkor and battled his monstrous creations. We learned early that these things do not have the Spark Imperishable by nature, but must steal it from others that do, from us and from men. Ever have the forces of the Fallen Vala preyed upon our people and ever have we repulsed them, at heavy cost. Every loss is recalled with vivid clarity and unending sorrow and ever deepening rage. We fight; we always have and we always will. We are born into it and die whilst engaged in combat; thus has it always been under the eaves of the trees where none but the Wood Elves venture to dwell.

"I know what others say: that we should leave, that we should never have stayed back on the Great Journey, that Oropher was a fool to ever travel to such a place, to mingle Sindarin blood with such a backward people, and since we remained, stubborn in our defiance, our fate is of our own choosing and thus deserved." He saw them drop their heads to avoid his eyes and counted this promising, for if they could regret such ideas perhaps they could also shed them. "Yet where would we go? Here? There is little enough room for those here now. To Lothlorien? The Golden Wood likewise is too small to accommodate even our reduced numbers.

"Shall we invade upon the lands of men and make for ourselves new foes, new enemies among the Second Born? Have they not the right to their own lands as much as we? Must we petition, then, for refuge in Mithlond? It is said my people cannot endure the sound of the sea and must sail upon hearing it. So then, to Aman? Why must we abandon the home made for us by Eru's will and concede defeat to so corrupt a being that his own kind have banished him into the void? Greenwood is ours and we will fight for Tawar until the last of us perishes, but we will never relinquish our homes and lives of our own free will. Such would truly be defeat, for we understand to what obscene use the light of our fëar is put. Do not the wise know this, too? Darkness grows stronger with every elven soul that perishes."

"We suspect something very like," Elrond shifted uncomfortably in his chair and glanced at Elladan. His son was staring at Legolas, entranced but utterly dumbfounded, heart daunted with bewildered sorrow. Clearly, this was not the personality he had expected to wed to his for all time. _Not a submissive sort, our Legolas._

"Aye, but do nothing about it, for your people live under the protection of the Elven Rings. Aye, we know where they are and who wields them. Aye, we say wields instead of bears, for we know to what use that power is put, and for such cause your realm, the Golden Wood, and the fair shores of Mithlond remain free of harassment from evil."

"Legolas, we did not choose the distribution of the Elven Rings," Elrond began.

"Who did so, Hiren?" the Wood Elf interrupted. "Iluvatar? The Valar in their protected lands beyond the Sundering Sea? Celebrimbor their maker?" Legolas waved his glass, scowling, to forestall the expected rejoinder and continued. "It does not matter! We have never needed such an article to defend our own and would not have it if offered. Yet aid we do need, now, for we are too few to combat the rising tide of defilement and destruction that engulfs our forest. And this is due not to a lessening of purpose or of courage, but to our diminishment at that ill-fated siege upon the Black Gates and the tower of Barad Dur.

"We gave up too much; thinking our bold action would inspire others to join us. Sadly, we were left to the only fate such a small and ill-armed force could receive from Sauron: merciless and pitiless annihilation. Our population is now so reduced that we can no longer defend the central and southern reaches of Greenwood. We have been driven back into a small holding behind the Dwarven Road. There are all our people gathered now, the few that remain battling desperately for life itself, for us and for Tawar. It is a lost cause."

So deep was the sorrow in his voice, speaking this, that Elrond and Elladan felt keenly the lancing pain that assailed his heart and dropped gracelessly into their seats, eyes round and faces ashen.

"Lost, unless we can clear that vile demon from our home," Legolas continued, imbuing his speech with unflinching determination and temerity. "It must be done, Hiren, and yet we cannot do it alone." He scooted forward in the chair so to peer deep into the lore-master's troubled grey eyes. "You must come forth from the Hidden Vale and take council with Thranduil, and Celeborn the wise will join us, too. Mayhap Mithrandir will see fit to add his wisdom and I know Aiwendil can be called on at need, for he is our ally. Help is owed to us in remission for our losses before the Black Gates; losses that emboldened Sauron to show himself at last and made possible his defeat. What say you?"

It was quiet for a long time after this impassioned speech, for Elrond would give the matter serious thought before answering, and Elladan would not speak before hearing his father's judgement, though his heart bade him agree to undertake this struggle on his mate's behalf. He alternately watched Elrond and Legolas, the two remaining focused solely on one another, eyes locked in some silent and grim communion of souls, a battle of wills that Elladan little doubted would end in victory for his father. Few could contest against Elrond and prevail. Even so, it was an intense duel and even he could perceive the effort required for Elrond to counter the strong words and compelling tale. At last he moved, sitting back and drawing air into his lungs deeply as he blinked his eyes and then rubbed them, shaking his head as he did so.

"I cannot, much as I would wish it," he said, wondering over the manner in which his will had been so neatly challenged and very nearly overthrown by this young prince of the woods. He looked into the fair face again, troubled in his heart. "Legolas, you have known great hardship and sorrow and I respect the motives that move you so deeply, but this thing you would do is not a thing to be done on a whim. It needs careful thought and planning, and without the sanction of the White Council such an endeavour must fail."

"Yet there has been success already without your help and it was a Wood Elf who succeeded in defeating one of those Shades," he held aloft the ring again, "not the great Lord Elrond. I know more of this than any save my Adar. For all of my life I have fought this spectre and I will have it gone from our world if I am to live on in Middle-earth. We cannot abide here together, the Necromancer and I, for my mother's light sustains it and this I cannot accept."

"Much that you say owns truth," Elrond soothed, for it was easy to see Legolas had inherited that streak of headstrong insubordination common to the kin of Oropher. Only death triumphed in the face of such foolhardy courage as this. "The Necromancer is indeed beyond my complete understanding. He conceals his true nature and even the wise among the wise have failed to perceive him clearly. The more so must you be wary of falling into the trap he sets for you."

"Elbereth!" Elladan exclaimed in horror. "He knows all about you!" Somehow, it had seemed that while Wood Elves in general were the prey of this demon, Legolas was anonymous among this number.

"Of course he does," Legolas gave him a pained look. "Have I not harried him and his minions these many years since first I took up my bow? Have I not felled one of his Wraiths? Aye, he knows about me and fears me, for I shall be there when he is overthrown."

"This is the lie he uses to lure you near enough to destroy you," Elrond warned. "You must not challenge him, Legolas."

"This I have already done," Legolas revealed and Elladan shouted an ugly curse, leaping to his feet.

"I forbid it!" he yelled. "You will remain here in Imladris at my side. You are my mate, Legolas, and I will have you beside me."

"That goes both ways," Legolas reminded him. "You are my mate also, and I would have you beside me to see this done. Will you abandon our bond, so newly forged?"

"I do not abandon it," Elladan stammered, flustered over this ultimatum, "but no more will I let you go forth to certain death."

"Precisely; there is too much at stake here, Legolas, to reduce this to unrealistic demands," Elrond sought to intercede without affect.

"So little faith you have in me, even after I show proof of my skill and daring."

"If you would prove it then come with me into Eriador; together we can fulfil the vow I swore when Nana departed."

"Nay!" Elrond cried, for this way also led to tragedy, but Legolas quickly struck his bargain.

"I will go hunting with you for this lesser prey, Elladan, and keep your vow as my own. For ten seasons of summer we will hunt together in the wild lands of men and lesser mortals, but after that I will go back to Greenwood and fulfil my own vow and free my people from the oppression of Dol Guldur. Will you go with me then?"

"I will go," Elladan promised and took Legolas', kissed it solemnly.

"So be it," Legolas smiled as he took the blighted token from his pocket and tossed it lightly up, caught it with a victorious flourish, and slipped it back inside its silken prison. "Now we may move on to less gruesome matters. When will I be presented to your people, Beloved, and what manner of ring would you like? I brought many, antiques forged in the Elder Days long ago and hidden away in my Adar's vaults. From among these priceless relics you may choose." He laughed at the nonplussed expression adorning Elladan's face and leaned forward to hug him playfully.

Elrond groaned in misery and downed the contents of his goblet in a single draught. 

word count 33,905


	7. Chapter 7

Infinite Iterations

In the Halls of the Elven King,  
deep beneath the pale, occluded light of the forest pathways, Thranduil paced in slow, brooding steps, a vision of imperious and stately authority crowned this day with fronds of fern and the small, delicately nodding blooms of blood red columbine. Ruby-studded, regal robes draped atop the simple and utilitarian garb of a woodland warrior, his father's long and lethal broadsword belted at his hip, Thranduil paced the polished stone of the dais before his imposing throne of jasper and jade. Silently his boots trod the smooth surface, sturdy boots constructed for long marches under the adverse conditions of endless warfare, much worn though newly made little more than six turns of Ithil hence, not a sound escaping the placement of each heel, each step instinctively light and noiseless, softer than a whisper of wind in the leaves. His hands were clasped behind his back, each gripping the other tight in comfort or in conflict none could say for sure, save two sylvan soldiers trusted to stand personal guard upon their King.

They knew well enough mighty Thranduil despaired only of his own failings and would take no comfort from anyone. The warriors' eyes met in uneasy accord.

Conflict, then.

Before the doors they stood their watch; doors standing open as custom demanded that any might enter in and beseech the counsel of the King, but in truth none would dare do so uninvited and unescorted by attendants of their own. Thranduil ruled with minimal interaction between him and his subjects, deploying a hand-picked few to administer his decrees and declare his proclamations to the populace at large. It must be a grave affair indeed that brought the humble woodland folk before their Lord, not for fear of his temper, though it was legendary, nor for dread of a capricious or haughty demeanour, which he owned not, but for respect and reverence. Respect earned by virtue of the fortitude, courage, and sacrifice exhibited by him and his kin over centuries of governance; reverence for the indomitable spirit that refused to surrender to darkness, that would not forsake them to a cruel and undeserved fate, not without a fight, not without spilling his own blood if need demanded it, as it had before and would again.

The royal guards watched, knowing what must come and fretting over it, wishing in their hearts a means to alleviate this constant self-abrogation Thranduil inflicted upon his troubled mind and grief-riven soul. Their eyes met anew and shared the same thought: if only Legolas had not left them, if only Thranduil had not driven him away at last. Granted, their conflicted prince's interference was never guaranteed and not universally effective should he deign to intervene, but without him there was no forestalling this period of morbid introspection their King indulged. Thranduil would rehash it all thoroughly, minutely, analysing where he had erred, where he had done right, striving for the words and actions he might summon to mend everything and return to him his loving wife, his obedient son.

"Interfering Peredhel," he mumbled darkly and the hands separated to rejoin in a violent collision before his heart, the clap loud and echoing as palm struck palm and fingers cinched them tight in bruising compression before returning to their customary pose. He paused to exhale a resigned breath, turned about, and retraced the short expanse in the opposite direction.

"Shall I send for Galion, my Lord?" one guard asked, the set and proper inquiry at such times.

Thranduil glanced his way, smiling a sad and vaguely bemused smile. "Nay," he answered on cue, "You know how it will be, and when I am done here you are not to call for my aids or the healers. Go. Let me be mad in peace and solitude. Close the doors."

The order was obeyed and the guards understood they were meant to stand on the outside of them now and did so, dour and worried for ever more frequently did Thranduil venture so deep as this into the past, since his son deserted him and abandoned Greenwood. The King meant to go all the way back to the start of it, then, and nothing they could do could prevent the plunge into despair and fading sickness that accompanied it. Legolas could stop it and no other. Without a word, they agreed and one left at the run to find the King's kinsman and seneschal. Perhaps Galion could summon words to call him back from such a fruitless examination of conscience.

They were wrong, but not very far from truth. Thranduil could no longer bear to go to the place where the tragedy began. If he went there, he must see her, hear her, and bear anew all the agony of her wilful discontent, his stubborn, self-righteous arrogance. That he could not do anymore. He would recede only to the ending now, the place where he'd lost Legolas not to wounds or grieving but to blood-thirsty vengeance, hatred, and a strange, obsessive love that was unnatural and twisted, especially in a child.

With a deep sigh he sat upon the carven throne wrought of precious stone, crafted for him when he assumed his father's place and the sylvan folk first adorned his brow with an ephemeral crown of wilting blossoms. Before then he'd been simply a warrior; he was one still, a mighty warrior, fearless and proficient in the art of killing, yet despite his strength and in mockery of his courage, he had failed in the most horrible way a father and husband can fail his family. Thranduil's burdened heart skipped the ugly battle scenes and the harrowing accusations and curses rained upon him by his suffering child. He moved to the point he now deemed the last chance he'd had to fix this, and thus represented the moment of his ultimate defeat.

He exhaled as if it were his final breath, a long, rasping, emptying breath, and gripped the arms of the elegant chair, fingers finding and filling grooves they'd worn into the stone, slipping into them with familiar and devastating ease even as his soul shifted and loosened and forced his body into deep reverie, oblivious to all that was happening now, this charade he endured in quiet torment, this farcical existence everyone else called life. His heart slowed, each throbbing pulse farther and farther apart from the one previous to it; his limbs grew cold and stiff, his emerald eyes dilated and then went blind behind long lashed lids that fell shut. In this limbo he waited, neither in darkness nor light, poised upon the threshold of reality where the boundaries between what was and what is dissolve, an eternity passing through his bones in an instant, and then he opened his eyes on the fabled beauty and majesty of Lothlorien, though all its grace was lost on him.

"I will not endure this outrage. Give me my son!" Thranduil bellowed in Celeborn's face, having arisen precipitately from the council table to lean low over his distant kinsman.

The Lord of the Golden Wood lifted a restraining hand, silently commanding forbearance from his loyal March Warden who had taken a quick step closer; Celeborn's eyes fixed upon Greenwood's King the while. "It shall be done, muindor; be at peace," he said calmly, but now a disturbance erupted among his own.

"Nay! He doesn't want to go; shouldn't that factor into your decision?" Elladan was on his feet also, ready to abort this diplomacy and race to secure the refugee in a safer location. "The child asks for asylum; does Celeborn the Wise ignore a request for mercy?"

"There is no decision to discuss! He will be returned to his people where he belongs. How you could ever conceive I would permit this separation is incomprehensible." This acidic remark issued from the King in contemptuous tones. He raised an accusing forefinger and aimed it at Elladan. "You are in the wrong and well do you know it. I am indebted to you for his life, yet you abuse my gratitude by abetting his deranged ranting. He is ill and needs care, yet you drag him on horse through dangerous lands. How is this meet? How is this just? Answer me, peredhel!"

"You talk of justice who would punish him for your own crimes!" Elladan shouted back, ready to engage Thranduil in mortal combat if need demanded it, for he could not relinquish the child and break his trust.

"Crimes? Huan fuiol! He is my son and I would see him healed; is this a crime?"

"Peace!" Celeborn exhorted and stood to bar them both from further strife. He took hold of his kinsman while Haldir came and pulled Elladan away. His grandson called out to him in desperation.

"You weren't there; you didn't see how…"

"Indeed, we needn't have witnessed the tragedy to understand the implications," Galadriel admonished, grim and exasperated to watch this ugly contention. She had never known Elladan to be either irresponsible or irrational, yet his actions held no reason she could find. "He's a child, Elladan, a traumatised child, and you speak of what he wants? Is this sensible?"

"No doubt he wants his mother back, alive and whole, but you cannot grant this anymore than we should condone his wanting to stay with you," Haldir added his own chastisement, not thinking carefully before speaking, and his comment wrought a strangled howl of a gasp from Thranduil. The monarch staggered and Celeborn sat him down in the chair carefully, keeping tight hold upon his shoulder.

"Truly spoken," the Lord of Lorien agreed, eyes on Haldir, "if roughly said. Elladan, he is too young to comprehend what it means to request sanctuary here. He only knows his mother is gone and, unable to cope with his inability to save her, has transferred this fear and guilt to his father. We must not reinforce this erroneous idea. You must let him go."

"Nay, Adardhaer, he feels betrayed and I was there. He knows I understand why he…"

"Curoniel, forgive me," Thranduil moaned, face buried in his hands as he rocked himself upon the seat, unable to master his grief as the images replayed across his memory.

"This is unacceptable, Elladan. What prompts you to add to the burdens of a grieving husband and father? Even a child Legolas' age without such a dire heart-wound is not capable of judging what best suits his future development," Galadriel scolded. She gazed in pity upon Thranduil, but refrained from offering comfort he could not accept.

Still belligerent, Elladan had at least regained control of his temper, seeing the King's real misery. "I would do what is right," he said, "yet it is clear to me this ellon has not the strength to uphold his child, for he cannot defeat his own despair. What of Legolas should he fall to grief and fade?"

"Elladan, that is no justification for your actions," Celeborn said. "Together, father and son may regain some measure of peace, but divided both will be lost. Do you want these lives upon your conscience?"

"Nay, he is too honourable for that." This pronouncement came from Thranduil, recovered from the shock of Haldir's callous reference. He drew a steadying breath and faced the son of Elrond. "I have no wish to condemn you, Elladan of Imladris; you have done a great service to me that I can never remit, yet neither will I relinquish my son into your care. Legolas belongs among his people."

"He does not want to remain with his people anymore because…

"Nevertheless, he belongs with his people, with his father, his family. Each has only the other; would you deny the father the right to raise his own son, his only child?" Celeborn barked, provoked by his grandson's rationalisations.

"…they let her die."

Elladan finished his sentence and the closing words had a profound impact. A horrific silence dropped upon them with all the subtlety of a landslide. It did not last.

The Elven King lunged for him, propelled by agonised fury released as a sound so venomous, so feral that it was no longer identifiable as elven. His intention of grappling Elladan at the neck and throttling him dead was prevented by the speedy intervention of his aids and the timely efforts of Haldir and Celeborn, who bore the object of his ire forcibly from the room. There was nothing more to say after that, despite Elladan's voluble dissension and Thranduil's shrieks of rage and promises of reprisals of a personal and violent nature. It was some time before he could contain his outrage, but Elladan was far from his reach by then, and he forgot his wrath in worry for his child. When he was calm, Galadriel took him to the talan where Legolas lay resting, drifting in uneasy sleep beset by memories of violence and death.

Thranduil sat beside his son and gently caressed the soft golden hair, overcome with both remorse and relief. Slight and small by nature, Legolas looked vulnerable and helpless, so young and frail; how could he survive such injuries, such torment? It was an extraordinary cure attributed solely to the timely intervention of the peredhel Lord, according to the healers, without whom there would have been nothing to save. Carefully he shifted the blanket to make sure for himself the wounds were neatly bound, though he knew the best of care would be extended and the Lady's potent magic would envelop Legolas in healing light. Even so, the new bandages were spotted crimson, and while the stains were minimal, their presence underscored the seriousness of the trauma, the negative impact the mad journey through the wilds had wrought upon fragile flesh. His heart constricted around the anger this idea aroused, for the way was dangerous for even the heartiest and canniest warriors. That Elladan had dared attempt it was both infuriating and terrifying.

How easy it had been, how neatly planned and quickly executed. None had thought to question the Noldorin Lord's actions or hinder his progress even when he strode boldly through the stronghold with Legolas cradled in his arms. Why would they? He was the child's saviour. He'd had no need to manufacture reasonable excuses for his actions; his motives were beyond reproach; his honour indisputable, and not a single person confronted him or alerted Thranduil, assuming the monarch must know and approve. With good cause; Thranduil had proclaimed him a citizen of Tawar and a de facto member of the King's family. _How cleverly he took advantage of my trust and gratitude._

Rising anger was checked as Legolas stirred, moaned in distress, and mumbled incoherent pleas from the depth of pain-warped dreams, long fingers clutching at the covers and knotting them tight. At once Thranduil murmured soothing words, traced the grooves across his frowning brow, straightened the sheets, unlocking the rigid hand to take it in his, a surge of hope flooding his heart over the strength of his young son's grip. Legolas' eyes opened and fixed upon him, confusion filling the sapphire irises.

"Adar."

"I would take it from you, this sorrow, and add it to my own if only I could. Hear me? I would take this from you if I could," Thranduil whispered, bending low to press his lips against the child's fevered brow.

"But you can't. She was my mother; this nightmare is mine alone." Legolas replied, voice strained and raw from his screaming and crying and cursing.

Thranduil sat back and peered into a soul so filled with loathing it made him flinch, but he refused to look away for this was what he wanted and needed. For this he revisited this dreadful place.

"Nay, not yours alone. She was mine, also, my beloved soul-mate. What I lost is different, but equally rending to the heart and mind. I have lost her, who was more important to me than all my kingdom and all my wealth. Nothing can fill the emptiness my heart suffers save your love and forgiveness, ionen. Grant me that, Legolas."

"I cannot. You sent her to her death and would not go after her. You chose me over her; I cannot forgive you."

"I did not send her to death; she was taken from me as were you," Thranduil calmly reasoned, again smoothing the sweaty hair away from the pallid and pain-pinched face. "I love you both dearly."

"You chose me over her; how is that love? Do you know what I have seen?"

"I know."

A long silence fell over them and Legolas' eyes fell shut again; dreams invaded his rest again; pain tormented his body again, and Thranduil sat beside him and watched and wept. At length, his tears ended and he drew a deep and ragged breath, wiped his eyes and once more kissed his child's head, and though now he was no longer a child, his wounds still bled and he struggled against the phantoms of his past. The blue eyes that gazed upon Thranduil were distant, disdainful, and burgeoning with disgust.

"I loved her, Legolas; you must believe that."

"And yet you let her die that way. How is that love?"

"I could not protect her," Thranduil choked on the words. "Forgive me, ionen!"

"I cannot," Legolas repeated the same response, "for you chose me over her. You let me live and sent her away to death."

"I had to choose, yet I made her do it for me. Aye, she knew I could not. She knew I would choose her and let you die. She knew that in so doing, I would condemn you both to die. So she chose for me that you might live. I honoured her choice, for I could not bear to loose her and you, also. You are old enough to understand this now."

"I understand." The words were sardonic and mocking, cruel in their cutting contempt. "But you don't."

"Yes, I do. I should have let him stay with you; I see this clearly now."

"Why didn't you, knowing what he meant to me?"

"I was afraid. I feared him; he took you from me. You are all I have left of her; you are my son, whom I love more than my own life. I needed you to need me, not him."

"Then you are a fool, for he was all that stood between me and Darkness. I might have healed with him; instead, I am as mad as you are, and you have lost me anyway."

"Indeed, but you are still alive and so I hope. In time, perhaps you can yet be healed by this love you bear him and he bears you, strange though I deem it to be."

"Perhaps." Legolas shifted in discomfort, trying to find a position that did not cause him such rending misery, failing utterly. "You should have told me this before. It is too late; your fears have triumphed over your purported love."

"No, my fear has been defeated and I will learn to love him for your sake, only come back to me for I need you here. I need you both here, Legolas."

"He will never come here; have you forgotten? You banished him and he left me. He left me and never would you let a day pass without reminding me of that."

"Never did the sun set without you calling me a murderer."

"So we are back to this. Go; I am weary of it all."

"Nay, nay! Only in this place can I reach you; I cannot go, Legolas."

Yet silence reigned once more and Thranduil cast off his fine robes to lie down upon the pallet beside his son, drawing him close to hold against his heart, and discovered the lithe, wiry warrior had become a babe, still and cold and bloody. He gazed into sightless, hollow eyes that stared back at him across a vast expanse of infinite emptiness, glazed and lifeless eyes of blue. The King recoiled, dropping the infant and leaping from the bedding, a cry on his lips that brought the loyal guards through the doors, and Thranduil looked upon them in confusion that quickly turned to horror. He stood upon the dais before the throne of jasper and jade, the elegant robes in tatters beneath his boots, the crown of fern and columbine a mass of green and red pulp smeared into the fabric, and slowly raised bejewelled hands before him, the digits strong and steady as ever despite the pounding of his pulse.

"Empty," he whispered and dropped them to hang heavy and useless at his sides.

For a moment his head bowed low and his proud carriage drooped beneath the burden of sorrow and guilt, but it was not in his nature to surrender to any foe. A decision resolved itself within his mind and he acted upon it at once. Ignoring the warriors' cautious questions, he pushed past them, striding with grim purpose from the regal room, one hand at rest upon the hilt of the sword, the other curled into a defiant fist that moved in concert with his every step.

Arador came out of the meeting with his noble benefactors dark and spiteful of mind and mood, pride stung by the brusque censure to which he'd been subjected by both the Lord of the Vale and the dour, fearsome Lord Erestor. Why had he imagined they would listen to his concerns or heed his complaints? It was as Halbarad always cautioned: they were elves and had not the same sense of urgency regarding resurrecting the Kingdom of Arnor. They would back the descendant of Tar Minyatur, but need not choose the current generation as the recipient of their powerful intercession. Elrond could afford to wait until he encountered a personality more in tune with his recollections of Elendil; he had infinite time and to spare. There was no ambiguity regarding his position of simultaneous authority over the deprecated realm and reluctance to intervene in favour of advancing the cause of the present heir of Isildur. How was it put?

_'I see no purpose in harassing the scattered people of the countryside, particularly the shire-folk. They do not acknowledge the rights of Arador and his Rangers to rule them. What do these simple people know of the history of these lands? Even if they did, they are not native to the place and hold no allegiance to the Kings of old. This tax, or tribute, or whatever you name it must cease immediately.'_

The Dúnadan snorted in contempt reminiscent of that contained in Lord Erestor's voice as those statements were uttered and his speed increased with his rising outrage. Through the stately mansion he marched, boots pounding the gleaming floors and issuing a loud report with every step, the discordant noise echoing in the vaulted corridor with a satisfyingly ominous staccato. Arador's face remoulded into contours of smirking and petty triumph over the discomfort this would cause for sensitive elvish ears. The expression could not be sustained and melted into a scowl of livid indignation as he realised the residents of the valley would not care about his humiliation, if they knew anything of it, and he was actually announcing to all and sundry that the meeting did not go well. Arador resumed a more sedate pace, eyes darting left and right as he exited the Last Homely House, feeling the need to put some distance between him and the scene of his chastisement.

The stately grounds held no charm and the omnipresent murmur of the ever-flowing falls failed to soothe him. The betrayal was too galling; nothing else could he name it than faithless treachery. His kinsman, the noble and righteous Lord Elrond, Arador's uncle many generations of Men removed, had sided with his elven cousin rather than his mortal nephew. The legendary healer and lore-master had as much as admitted the decision to raise up the kingdom was his to make, not Arador's, and that he was waiting for a 'more exalted humility' to arise before committing any of his resources or his soldiers to re-establishing the reign of the Lords of Adunië. The sceptre of Anuminas was not to be wielded by anyone who would seek to advance himself through 'coercion of the common folk by implicit threats of withdrawing all protection and defence'. Those were Erestor's remarks and he'd found them distressing enough to hear. Elrond's supplementary lecture had proved unbearable and indicative of his complete loss of respect for the man.

_'The privilege to rule cannot be purchased, whether by blood or coin. Aye, you heard me rightly. To rule a people and a nation is a privilege granted by the will of Eru, earned by the valour of a courageous and compassionate heart, not a right passed on through the loins of your forebears. What flows through your veins is but a remnant of the strength of Numenor, a shadow of my brother's likeness, diminished and diluted by time and turmoil. The temptation to equate personal power and esteem with military might is legendary in the heirs of Elendil. Let not the hubris of Isildur be the legacy to which you cling, Arador.'_

That Elrond and Erestor knew of his efforts to raise funds and conscript an army revealed the Twins' to be nothing more than their father's spies. Why had he thought they would consider him a brother? _Because I was raised up at their sides to think of them so._ That they did not share this sense of brotherhood and never had was the most mortifying realisation of all, and spurred the man to acrimonious and futile denouncement of their behaviour.

Arador's jeremiad in defence of his actions was ignored and his complaints regarding Elladan and Elrohir's periodic desertion the mighty Lord would not heed. Indeed, Elrond's cool grey eyes flashed as a stormy sky spiked with lightning when the charges were addressed, and his remonstrance was neither gentle nor vague. He'd stood abruptly, face flushed and brows lowered, announcing the meeting at an end and Arador dismissed until he could achieve an attitude of maturity and gratitude more appropriate in consideration of the years of selfless service the twin Lords of Imladris had already, and continually, devoted to the rugged plains and scattered population of Eriador. He'd swept from the room, a brief glance to Erestor condoning the harsh and lengthy dressing down the man had thereafter been forced to endure from the arrogant seneschal.

The man fumed in silent fury, shamed and diminished by these developments, and paused in his speedy transit of the grounds, finding his wrath had propelled him into the more utilitarian areas of the estate. The subdued susurration of a crowd rapt in restive curiosity alerted him to the contest in progress and Arador could not banish his own interest; his feet carried him near and he shoved through to the second rank of onlookers to discover Elladan and his fair woodland mate engaged in mock combat. The couple sparred with knives, each armed with a pair of silver blades, one long and flexible, the other short and brutal like the fangs of a dire wolf. They moved with a grace that was beautiful and beguiling to behold and he found himself falling prey to a fascination that had proved deadly to many a foe who faced the First-born. Their loveliness was deception incarnate, their harmonious elegance pure artifice; their agile movements an entrancing snare such that the death dispensed by those gifted hands was almost worth the opportunity to observe them in action.

Stripped to the waist and discalced, ebony and golden tresses fanning out, mixing and separating in the fluctuating energy of their exertions, Elladan and Legolas fought, intensely focused one upon the other, oblivious to the watchers while actively courting their notice and attention, every motion flaunting and boasting their mutual good fortune to have won such a mate. They were well matched, complimentary opponents testing and probing one another's limits, sharing a dance of mingled wonder and pride as each discovered and then exhibited the specific techniques and manoeuvres unique to the other. They were learning, seeking for any point of vulnerability not to exploit it to advantage but to eliminate it and thus decrease the probability of injury in battle. They were teaching one another every trick and every tactic known individually, revealing differences in style governed by the separate environments in which each was raised, and there flowed between them a current of reciprocal respect, admiration, and gratitude for this exchange.

They reached a point of completion when all that had been different and separate suddenly merged, melding into a new form of fighting unlike any other practiced in the world and yet filled with the knowledge and experience of both warriors. It was similar to the eery synchronicity shared between the twin brothers, but exceeded that ingrained mimicry, presenting as unified yet distinct, and through all ran the bold, bright beauty of their eternal bond. The couple ceased combat and saluted one another before casting aside their weapons and colliding in a passionate embrace, mouths sealed and arms locked about one another; the crowd erupted in soft exclamations of approval and applause. All save two.

The Chieftain of the Rangers did not join this collective adulation, a grimace of disdainful scorn returning to mar his comely features. He'd had ample opportunity to observe the couple during the ten day celebration of the unexpected bonding and a powerful surge of resentment had welled up beneath his heart during the initial presentation of the Wood Elf prince. He was exquisite to regard, none could deny it, and not in the least the personification of savagery the man had expected in a sylvan elf. That night he'd seemed aloof and reserved, less an exuberant new husband than a grudging comrade, distrustful of the people with whom he discovered himself to be associated. Distrustful and rather disdainful, a cold, haughty, and arrogant air about him that did not endear him to the welcoming lords and ladies of the land. After the initial introduction, Legolas had warmed to his new countrymen somewhat and they in turn had begun to truly accept him. Now, here in the training arena he exhibited his real nature and found an answering chord of dedication and approval from the warriors; they were instantly brothers, one and all.

So much excitement and regard for an outsider rankled. Never had Arador experienced this level of affirmation in Imladris, though he shared the very blood of the Lord of the lands. Watching the crowd's reaction, he did not doubt that their respect was genuine. For this insignificant woodland archer the rank and file of the Noldorin soldiers would exert their utmost effort and declare their staunchest loyalty, yet for him, for his people they would do nothing unless so ordered. What was it that engendered such admiration? Arador could not see it. Granted, Legolas was fair, an alluring bit of physical diversion for which Elladan had departed Eriador, and who could blame him, yet to bond with him?

Aye, Arador conceded, if the Rangers of Eriador had a safe haven in which to repair, and if he could coax such a beauty to notice him, he would do the same. So many ifs that never became certainties. It was not a point that quieted his discordant reaction to the sylvan, but a reminder of all that was lacking in the man's life. Always it was like this: the elves, beloved and favoured First-born of Eru, were afforded the best of all the gifts Iluvatar deigned to bestow upon his children, leaving little left for the men who struggled behind and beneath them. _Here is the raw truth before my very eyes; even a common Wood Elf is above a man, even a man of the noblest blood._ The realisation was hard to bear for heir of Tar Minyatur, and Arador could not stomach it or its living representation.

Resentment and envy bloomed in his heart, bitter strains of discontent coursing through his veins as the newly bound pair indulged the heat generated by their bout in the arena. They parted smiling and left arm in arm, heads bent close together as they spoke words too intimate to allow public disclosure. The crowd parted for them, many a kind hand resting in fleeting approbation on Elladan's shoulder as they passed, though none dared touch the Wood Elf. _Oh no, none would dare invite the elder twin's wrath by hinting at the interest Legolas inspires._

Yet none could hide it nor even wished to do so. It was a tribute in its own right, both to Elladan for having secured such a mate and to Legolas for simply being. That he was so skilled a warrior was an attribute worthy of respect and despite initial reservations due to his heritage, the soldiers were pleased Elladan's choice would be an asset to Imladris. On another level entirely, most judged Legolas' character must be strong indeed to have tamed the mercurial Orc-slayer in a single night. The bond and its healing power had become the talk of the barracks. Nay, it was no sin to admit the lusty desire Legolas generated around him as long as it was never openly demonstrated, but all of this was hidden from the man.

"Why such a sour face, mellon?" Elrohir's mocking query was softly voiced for Arador alone and the man met his sardonic gaze with a flustered and guilty start. "And such raw nerves today!" Elrohir circled the man slowly and grinned in malicious glee. "You have watched my brother spar many times before without showing so much discomfort; therefore, it must be my new law-brother who inspires this mood, no?"

"I assure you, whatever my thoughts on this match may be, I will not express them aloud to Elladan or his mate. Your initial rebuke was sufficient, Elrohir; you need not follow me about." Arador rubbed his chin in memory of the blow received for his irreverent remarks. Elrohir laughed to see it

"Be at peace! I will not accost you again. I've Elladan's interests ever foremost in my heart and mind, and this Wood Elf is not the one for him. I am grateful for the healing Legolas has rendered, of course, and this explains his hold on Elladan, but the match, as you term it, may not be so permanent as many think."

"Truly?" Arador stared at Elrohir, distrusting his strange demeanour. "What can you mean?"

"My father has received a vision, troubling and dark, concerning the inclusion of Legolas in our lives."

"Yet Lord Elrond welcomes him and sanctions their union," Arador rejoined, wondering what Elrohir meant by telling him this news. "Surely, if Elladan's heart is bound, any harm to Legolas must injure him also. I cannot believe you would wish any harm to befall the Wood Elf."

"Have I said anything so dire?" Elrohir smiled indulgently and set an ominously weighty hand on his kinsman's shoulder. "Nay, my brother's heart is not bound to this sylvan prince, though the attraction is strong between them. It will run its course and what then? Better for Elladan to realise the truth before this doom befalls us all, and then Legolas will be sent away back to his gloomy woods and his mad father."

"I do not understand, ELrohir; what truth must Elladan comprehend?"

"That Legolas does not love him any more than he loves Legolas. They delude themselves, alas, and if they continue in this denial then this horrendous fate must come to pass. I will not risk my brother's future nor endanger my family for the sake of one woodland archer, no matter how tragic his past or deserving his spirit," Elrohir squeezed the man's shoulder as he spoke, the intensity of his piercing gaze almost more than Arador could endure, and so he broke away, strolling from the arena. Arador followed.

"I find your ideas troubling, Elrohir," the Chieftain said. "What is it the fate Legolas calls down upon the House of Eärendil?"

"He means to take on Dol Guldur and for Elladan to help him," Elrohir announced, nodding at the expression of disbelieving shock that overtook the man's visage. "Aye, you see it as I do: folly and ruin combined. The young prince is as deranged as his Adar. No doubt Thranduil sent him here to prostitute himself for the help of Imladris, knowing Elrond would never agree to risk a single warrior in battle beneath those blighted trees. I will not allow my brother to fall for so ridiculous a cause. As our kinsman, I charge you to remember your oath of fealty, Arador, and…"

"Daro!" Arador snapped, striding to face Elrohir in angry affront. "That is unworthy of you and me and you will not say those words in my hearing! Have I ever needed such a reminder? Have I ever failed to honour your father's decisions? Yeah, even now when he tells me bluntly he will not aid my cause to raise up Arnor to the glory that is my just due, still I will not oppose his will."

"Then, you are a fool and unworthy of that place of power and prestige you so dearly covet," Elrohir sneered, his gaze a scathing rebuke in itself.

"You test me to my limits, ELrohir," Arador ground out between his teeth, fighting to retain control of his anger for there must be a purpose in all this pageantry and he would know it. "What do you want?"

"I want to ensure Elladan never returns to Greenwood with Legolas. Bound as they are, I see only one means to prevent this: break the bond."

"You have said the bond is false and will run its course."

"So it will, but I will not leave my brother's fate to such an uncertain hope, for who can say how long that may take or how soon this call to return to Greenwood may come? The threat must be vanquished before it materialises."

"What do you want?"

"I want Legolas," Elrohir said, "and I want Elladan to be there when I have him. I want him to see Legolas submit to me willingly and with great delight. Only this will open his eyes."

Arador was stunned, for this was not what he'd expected to hear, and still the cause for Elrohir to impart such information to him was unclear. "I do not believe I can assist you to realise this bizarre adultery, nor why I would wish to."

"You want him, too."

"Nay, I do not!"

"No? Well, you do want to discard the homely title of Chieftain and wield the sceptre of the King, do you not?"

"Yes, but destroying the bond between your brother and the Wood Elf can hardly accomplish that."

"Then not only are you a fool, but you lack insight as well," Elrohir exclaimed in exasperation, shaking his head. "Elladan and I can make your wish a reality, Arador, whether my father wills it or no. Once you have united the people or Eriador and driven the vermin from the realm of Arnor, Elrond will not oppose you. He will acknowledge the King and the sceptre will be yours, supported by a most powerful ally."

"Elrond will never commit his soldiers to my cause; he has told me this in plain words," Arador retorted, angry that Elrohir made him admit this loss of confidence in his character a second time.

"My brother and I are Lords in our own rights and command sufficient troops to undertake this quest. Indeed, even Legolas has promised my brother to take our vow as his own. We will raise an army for you, Arador, and drive the Orcs from your lands. The people will band together beneath your banner and the days of the Dunedain will flower anew. The population will flourish and grow robust, increasing in numbers and vigour under your rule. Prosperity will be yours and the span of your years twice over that of your father, nay, threefold! And riches, Arador, beyond your dreams shall fill the vaults of Anuminas to overflowing." Elrohir spun out this vision with shining eyes, watching as an avaricious gleam lit the man's soul. Arador was as easy to manipulate as the greediest commoner alive and the younger of Elrond's sons felt nothing but contempt for the man.

"From whence will this wealth arise? There is nothing left in Eriador but simple folk of humble means. It will be long years before the lands become abundant enough to engage in trade with Gondor or even Rohan." Arador complained, eager for Elrohir to expound on this point.

"I know a kingdom where great wealth lies in stagnant piles like the treasure horde of a dragon," he answered. "A trove of plunder legendary in immensity guarded by an ailing and heart-broken wreck who cannot protect his own people; nay, not even his wife and child."

"You speak of Thranduil?" Arador scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. "To think I was beginning to heed your mad scheme! Elrohir, he has no reason to come to my aid and every reason to desire only my destruction and that of all my kin. He blames your father and my forefather for his father's death."

"Legolas will see to it; he has no love for Thranduil. From what I understand, he means to defeat Dol Guldur and unseat his adar, taking over governance of Mirkwood himself. For this he needs Elladan and Imladris behind him. We will enter into a diplomacy with him and form an alliance: his riches to build up an army suitable to cleanse Eriador and re-establish Arnor. In return, we will promise that same army in his quest to free his people from the tyranny of the Necromancer and the madness of Thranduil. He will not refuse such a compact."

Now Arador was disposed to endorse this plot, desiring the outcome Elrohir described, but unwilling to cast his lot with the Wood Elf unless he could have some proofs of his efficacy. Another obstacle presented itself and he expressed hsi doubts. "How will we ensure Legolas' trust? He may be estranged from his people, but that does not mean he would support the heir of Isildur."

"You underestimate my determination," Elrohir assured, "and his naiveté. Leave Legolas to me."

"I am willing enough to do so, for I dislike the notion of angering Elladan by accosting his mate," Arador admitted frankly, eyeing Elrohir curiously. "And once my kingdom is won, then you will reveal to your own brother the inconstant heart to which he is pledged? I would not have imagined you would choose to give him such a soul-wound."

"I deliver a blow, aye, but not a mortal one; a wound, but to his pride only, Arador. I will not lose Elladan to Mandos." _Nor to this Wood Elf._

"I must trust you to understand this better than I," Arador shrugged, still suspicious, "and still I do not understand my part in it all. Why tell me this sordid plan of yours?"

"How is it sordid to want to protect my brother?" Elrohir bristled.

"There are surely less intimate ways to do that," the man laughed uneasily. "Why include me in your confidence?"

"Why, to ensure Elladan sees what he needs to see, of course, for you are wrong; there is no other way. Elladan will not believe any accusation made against Legolas without proof. You will make sure he is in the right place at the right time to require no further proofs. You are the one who must awaken in him the doubt; you are the one who will point out to him certain signs and indications that will arise as I do my work; and you are the one who will reveal the place and time of his mate's tryst with me. Why you? Because he will trust you; there is no reason for you to invent such things. Agree to my terms and Anuminas will rise from its ruination, elevating you to greater glory than any King before you."

It was a tempting offer and Arador was disposed to accept. How else would he gain sufficient might to ensure the cleansing of Eriador and the defeat of his foes? With the sons of Elrond behind him and Imladris as his ally, not even Gondor could oppose his rule. Arador could already see himself in the White City, the ancient Kingdom reunited, the crowds cheering, his reign undisputed, and the princes of lesser realms his vassals. He smiled, for this was his just due and the promise inherent in his lineage; it was right and good. What was Elladan's bruised ego in comparison? One discordant note sounded through his pleasing daydream and his face clouded. "What of the Wood Elf when your brother casts him off?"

"He will go home," Elrohir shrugged, unconcerned, "wiser and humbler in spirit, duly chastened for attempting to align himself with the noble House of Eärendil, so far above his station." The man still looked troubled and Elrohir laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Are you so sure you do not want him? Your anxiety over Legolas' feelings is compassionate, indeed!"

"Nay! Do not jest about that, Elrohir, for I am no match for your brother and he will challenge me if such a rumour starts!"

"Exactly so, which is why only I can do this thing. He will not challenge me. But do not be troubled overly much for the 'sordid' nature of the venture. I tell you there is no love and the bond is false, though each believes otherwise. There is already discord between them; they argued on their bonding night. It will benefit everyone to have this error corrected, for the doom of Adar's vision is not to be discounted, and they will both recover to seek a true and eternal soul-mate."

"So be it," Arador offered his hand in pledge and Elrohir took it. "I will do as you instruct provided the sceptre of Anuminas is mine to wield."

TBC.


End file.
